


Soul Searching

by FreakyPseudWriter



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, BAMF!Reader, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Naruto Canon Era, Sort Of, Tumblr request, Uchiha Madara Has Issues, War, senju!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2020-12-24 02:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 66,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21091706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakyPseudWriter/pseuds/FreakyPseudWriter
Summary: Senju and Uchiha always hated each other. It always had been that way and nothing would ever change that. You knew that, everyone knew that, and thus, war between the two clans was inevitable. The battles were gruesome, but this was the life of a shinobi, after all.Another unchanging truth.However, when Madara Uchiha himself comes to ask for help, Hashirama is more than willing to help out his old friend, for the sake of his dream of a world in peace. And you? You are caught in the middle, unwilling to help and yet forced by the order of your clan leader.





	1. Enemy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheIntellectualWeeb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIntellectualWeeb/gifts).

> Another of my requests which grew a tiny bit out of hand ^^''
> 
> "My main squeeze is Madara so I'd like to request some angst or mutual pining, with a fluffy end (my poor heart is too fragile for sad endings)? If you aren't feeling Mada, I've been feeling Hashirama lately too, so I wouldn't mind him instead. I'm not really particular if it's an AU or not, so creative liberties on that for you."
> 
> Well, here it is, and I think I definitely delivered on the 'creative liberties' part ;)
> 
> I have a questionnaire running atm for a 1000 Follower Tumblr Celebration and it's about which fic of mine will be reworked and printed out as a little booklet and I would be happy if some more people would throw in their opinion[ here ](https://forms.gle/t5cCfzhj9SjkA6HP9). Thank you for your time!

As a girl, you had to fight from the very day you were born. You didn’t realize at first why the same mentors who taught your cousins wouldn’t allow you to join their spars. You didn’t realize why your father shook his head every time you tried to convince him to let you learn and train. You didn’t realize why your mother was so adamant in putting you in colorful silk gowns and kimonos, hard to move in and even harder to get out of.

You just wanted to fight. You wanted to help, knowing Hashirama and Tobirama would protect the clan when they were ready. You wanted to be like them. The infamous genius children of the clan head, strong and rumored to bring the victory in the ever-waging battles with the damn Uchiha and their traitorous allies.

You grew older, and with every passing day, you realized more and more why you weren’t allowed to do all the things they were allowed to do. Why you had to learn about the other allies of the Senju-Clan, why you had to learn the finesse of the tea ceremony, why you had to know how to flirt and seduce with a mere lowering of your incarnate fan.

That left you with only one choice. In the depths of the night, when you were sure your dear mother and father were sleeping, you snuck out into the training compounds and tried to recreate the same movements you had studied out of the corners of your vision of Hashirama and Tobirama.

It was hard, being awake half of the night, trained until you dropped into your futon at the crack of dawn, only to be woken up by your mother to the boring and mindless lectures about manners, rules and the ridiculously complicated politics of the clans. Your shenanigans worked out for a month, before one night, a hand clamped down on your shoulder.

Frozen in fear of punishment, you didn’t dare to look up from the training post and your bruised hands, and a flare took a hold of your gangly body when your father spoke up in his typical, hoarse voice. You expected punishment and a silent warning to never do something as ridiculous as this again, but instead, he praised your efforts. He praised your efforts, praised your stance, only to belittle the way you were molding your chakra at the same time.

When your father turned you around and kneeled down to speak face to face with you, you subconsciously held your breath. His honest, dark eyes bore into yours, before he leaned his forehead against your smaller one.

“We should’ve known the Uzumaki-blood will be strong in you,” he whispered and you remembered that Father talked a lot about his clan close by the sea, “We really should’ve known it isn’t wise to tame you with clothing and politics. Nobody is able to tame the ocean itself if she doesn’t want to be tamed. Tomorrow, I will ask your mother to drop the lessons and start your training. You show promise.”

It took a week for your father to convince your mother to actually do so. Fights ensued, porcelain was destroyed, all the while your father persistently tried to convince your stubborn mother to see the truth in his words. You waited with bated breath, the blanket of your futon drawn all the way up to your nose, listening to the angry, yet shushed voices without even daring to look at the window, which you would use to sneak out for training.

In the end, your mother caved in. She wasn’t happy about this and only agreed to a compromise: You were allowed to pick up training, if you would also continue the lectures and lessons she prepared for you. Needless to say, you were overjoyed and went with an uncharacteristically enthusiasm into your formal training to be a proper representation for the Senju-Clan, only to sprint out of the room as soon as you were able to strip off the too tight and too restricting kimono. Finally, you could train when the sun was shining, run to your heart's content and try the same things Hashirama and Tobirama tried out all the time.

It was hard. Your muscles would burn, your bones would feel like breaking and the instructions from the teacher were sometimes so confusing that you had no idea what he was talking about. But slowly, you grew to become friends to the happy and always chatty Hashirama, who would become gloomy as soon only one word of doubt fell from his brother’s snarky mouth. These two grew to become your friends and training partners, a bond not to be broken and as close as a faraway cousin could be to the two sons of the clan head, while the two even younger brothers Itama and Kawarama would watch with wide eyes how you three would banter while fighting.

Years passed. Years of training, of learning, of growing and noticing the looks you would sometimes receive from some older teenagers of the clan, years of friendship with the two older brothers and some kind of distant relationship with the younger ones, before you were sent onto your first mission. You were given old, worn-out armor from your instructor, seeing the disdain and some kind of unwilling sympathy for you in his eyes, while your father and mother tried their best to prepare you for the upcoming bloodshed. You were given the only heirloom your father had taken with him when he left the Uzumaki-Clan behind to be married to your mother: a wonderfully crafted, perfectly balanced knife. The blade itself was formed like a wave itself, a thin drain line running across the blade to the very tip, not longer than your forearm.

“This blade,” your father told you as he handed you the sheath enveloping the knife, “killed lots of enemies of the Uzumaki. It is said that the souls of the most vicious enemy of my clan are entrapped in this blade and their rage and strength will guide and protect the wielder of the blade. Be assured, it’s hungering for the blood of your enemies. I can hear its call, still, after all the years I haven’t touched it. It is on you now, to sate this thirst. Be safe, my daughter.”

That night, your father showed you how to properly wield your new weapon and as attentive as ever when it came to battle and weapons, you listened.

The next morning, you joined Hashirama and Tobirama. They were clothed in brand-new and fitted armory, their wealth and status radiating from them, while you could only meekly lower your head with your badly mended chest plate and a pair of little too big sandals. The only new thing on you was your father’s blade, and also the only thing which attracted the attention of your friends.

“New blade?” Tobirama asked sharply as you joined them, in the middle of the night at the gates of the clan compound. His red eyes instantly zoomed into the handle peeking over your shoulder and out of instinct, your fingertips graced over the sheath, like a little charm.

“More like an old one, in new clothes,” you joked and nodded at the other two, visibly nervous shinobi a few feet away, “They’re nervous.”

“Of course. A scouting, so close to the territory of the Uchiha? Any sane man would be nervous.”

“What am I then? Insane?”

“No man.”

Tobirama. Always straight to the point. By now, you were used to it, so you just chuckled lowly and shuffled around to keep your body warm. Minutes later, the telltale not-so-secret steps of the heir of the Senju announced his incoming.

“Sorry,” Hashirama laughed, while his younger brother glared at him, “I was caught up in something and didn’t notice how the time passed.”

Tobirama scowled. “You’re not taking this seriously! Straighten yourself out and act more like the leader of this mission than the forgotten afterthought of a replacement!”

“Sheesh, Tobirama-san,” you shrugged, “you’re pretty tense today.”

If looks could kill, then you would’ve had dropped dead years ago. But they couldn’t (at least not Tobirama’s), thus, you countered his death-glare with a light, easy smile; barely a curl of the corners of your mouth.

“Of course, I’m tense,” he snapped, “We’re getting pretty close to the Uchiha-borders today! And we would be already halfway there if not for the tardiness of my dear brother!”

You bowed your head at his righteous words. “I’m sorry, Tobirama-san. Forgive me for my dismissive words.”

You may be friends behind the scenes, but first and foremost, he was a higher ranked member of the Senju-Clan. The son of the clan leader, _your_ leader, and thus, you had to pay your respects to both Hashirama and Tobirama, no matter how ridiculous and arrogant they acted.

It wasn’t your place to argue with them.

Hashirama quickly took his destined place at the head of the small troop, his glaring and still angry brother behind him, while you would follow them on their heels. The two others were more bodyguards than real members of the scouting mission. You knew it, the two boys knew it. The bodyguards knew it.

The eldest son looked back over his shoulder, first nodded at his brother, then at you, then at the last two shinobi, before sprinting off into the darkness of the night. Like ducklings following their mother, the small troop stealthily ran right behind him, not to be averted or to alert their countless enemies.

In silence, the troop made its way through the forest. Deeper and deeper into the dark of the trees, the light of the stars their only light and guidance, while not a single sound was made as they zipped through the trees. After all these years of training, adrenaline flooded through your veins at the mere thought of being on your first mission. Your first mission! You were excited, anxious, scared, eager to see and feel and fight and kill.

The Uchiha. Maybe you would see one. Maybe you could even fight with one! A small smile tugged at your mouth. Oh yes, fighting with an Uchiha sounded incredible! Maybe, if you were even able to kill one, the clan leader would show you a few more jutsu, for example the one with the water bullets he showed Tobirama last week! You wanted-!

Hashirama raised his hand, balled into a fist.

Everyone stopped. You even held your breath, all of your senses sharpened. An enemy. Someone was near!

You had travelled close enough to the Uchiha-border to make a patrol not unusual, but still far enough away from the official line on the map to also make an encounter terribly unlucky. If someone was close enough for Tobirama to have sensed them, they were either far away, at the bare edges of his sensory radar, or - !

A kunai zipped right past your left cheek. Not one sound escaped you, even though your heart stopped for a second. The enemy. A glance at Tobirama, and you whirled around, a kunai of your own in hand.

New shuriken came out of the darkness, but this time, you were prepared. The metal in your hand trembled slightly with every new impact as you defended yourself. Sparks flew, short lights in the dark. You were discovered.

Without a sign needed, your troop broke up. The bodyguards stayed with the future of the clan, while you sprinted away from them. Through the trees, leaves crashing into your face, hitting cheeks, nose, mouth, neck. Branches scratched over your skin, the armor rattled traitorously loud. Your breath echoed in your own ears, harsh, unforgiving. Legs burning, hands outstretched to keep your balance, you ran. Ran faster than you ever had run before. Ran faster than in any training, faster than you had run away when you stole one of the cookies off your mother's tray, ran faster than in any of the races with the Senju brothers. New shuriken flashed through the night. Again, you blocked them, metal clinking over metal and breaking through the darkness.

_This has to end._

You dropped through the branches. For a terrible moment, you thought you misjudged the distance, but you caught yourself at a branch, slowing your fall. A low grunt escaped your mouth, then you continued. The enemies were close enough now that you could hear them. Heavy breaths; one, two, three people.

You swallowed the blob of panic. Three people were too much. Two, you could have managed. You did it before, fought with Hashirama and Tobirama at the same time. But three? You never did that! It was impossible, impossible for you to sustain yourself long enough to guarantee that Hashirama and Tobirama would escape!

_I have to try, though. It’s my duty._

It was time. You reached into the bag at your waist. Thin strings, connected to kunai, was what you needed. A thick branch below your feet caught your attention, meters down, fifteen, ten odd meters or so perhaps? You weren't sure. Biting onto your lower lip, steeling your resolve, you twisted your lithe body around at the waist. A quick turn, a decisive, split-second observation. With a flick of your right wrist, quick enough to hurt your hands, you threw the wired kunai at two fitting trees, barely a few feet apart as you wildly threw out another kunai with your left to mask your original intention, praying that the shadows of the tree's crown was enough, enough to hide the gleaming wire. You barely caught sight of your wild throw missing the man's head even by an unlucky few inches as you turned back to the front, lurching off the thick branch you saw before, hastening in your escape. 

One of them didn’t see the trap coming. A cut-off gurgle, the telltale sound of blood spurting onto the ground told you enough. Two. Two, you could handle.

With a scream, you turned on your heels. The first shadow in your back evaded your wild swing, jumped aside while his dark, long hair fluttering behind him. Hate spread in your limbs, made you strong and fast, wild and unstoppable. Rolling through the air, you charged at the second shadow. He wasn’t as fast, not as lucky as you slammed the Uzumaki knife into his chest. Blood, warm and alive spluttered over your hands as you sank it deeper and deeper into the body. Ribs cracked, you fell over, on top of the dead man, and ripped the weapon out after a brief moment. It felt like the knife was vibrating in your hand, and only when you sheathed the knife, the motions seemed to stop.

“Now, it’s only you and me.” You said loudly.

No answer. Only a low growl rumbled through the air, like a hound had been released from its leash. Goosebumps peppered your arms as you turned around, glaring into the darkness and at the first shadow. He was the real danger here. The others had been stupid; easy enemies, easy kills. This one would be a challenge.

“What’s your name?”

You shuddered, and it wasn’t the coldness shaking your bones. No, the dark, demanding voice. You knew that tone. Knew the expectance of obedience, knew the stance of absolute confidence in his own position, knew who was standing right in front of you and wanted to know the name of the murderer who killed his squad.

Madara Uchiha. Ice rained down your back, froze your stomach, slowed down your heart. Madara Uchiha, the heir of the Uchiha Clan. Tales were told about his strength, agility and fierceness in battle. Of anyone to meet on your first mission, you had to meet him. Of course. Swallowing the dread curling on your tongue, you stood up, even though your knees felt strangely weak when these intimidating eyes seemed to pierce straight through your soul.

“My name is (Y/N) Senju.” You raised your chin in a silent challenge, even though everything you wanted was to hide underneath the next best rock. “You don’t need to tell me your name. I already know who I fight.”

“Good. It was never my intention to give you my name.”

_Arrogant bastard._

“Why do you want mine, then?”

The man — no, the teenager, barely the age of Hashirama and surely only a bit older than you — smirked, the white of his teeth reflecting some of the weak starlight. “That I know what to write onto the stone which will mark your grave.”

“So kind of you.”

You had to be careful. One look into his eyes and you could possibly be in a gen-jutsu you couldn't break. Still, you couldn’t keep yourself from glancing at his lower face, the even darker shadows of his jaw and neck, the way the blood-red armor hugged his torso…

Damn hormones. You hissed through your teeth when your eyes wanted nothing more but to dart upwards again, to the dangerous promise of his very dangerous Uchiha-eyes. If you would just react like this to a nice boy of the Senju or Uzumaki Clan, but no! It had to be _the_ Uchiha-heir which made your heart beat a little bit faster and your stomach flutter as you laid your hand again onto the handle of your heirloom. 

“Fuck off, Uchiha,” you inched closer, merely an inch, and you didn’t believe he noticed in the darkness, “We will see who gets buried today.”

His smile grew into a full smirk, disgustingly confident in himself and his own strength. “You can try,” he said, as his hands folded itself into the Tora-seal, “Try and see how big the difference between us is.”

Fire lit up the forest, a ball of hungry flames. But you anticipated the attack. Quickly, you dodged to the left, ducking beneath some branches, forming a jutsu on your own. Earth rose up and speared at the other teen. You sneaked up a nearby tree, heart racing and praying your distraction would work. From above, you watched how Uchiha dodged your half-hearted attack with the grace of a falcon, whirling himself through the air and landing in a low crouch. Even from a distance, you could almost feel how his Sharingan searched for you, searched for your chakra.

New kunai zipped through the air, directly at you. Cursing under your breath, you changed position, always chased by the intense stare from the bloody eyes. Your pulse was skyrocketing, but at the same time, you weren’t scared at all. You loved the feeling of adrenaline pumping through your veins, loved to plan your next steps ahead and loved, absolutely loved to finally be useful for your clan. To show off what you had learned over the last few years, to know you were strong and capable.

To prove you were strong.

More kunai came your way, and again, you jumped through the trees. Slowly, you circled into the middle of the big round you had run. And the Uchiha was right there, sitting on his ass and throwing his knives-!

“Running me around won’t work.”

Directly behind you. With a wordless scream, you swirled around, the short sword in your small hand and lashing out. The very tip caught some strands of his ridiculously long hair. Strands fluttered to the ground, and you followed, dropping like a stone and landing like a feather. Your body stretched in a quick flip backwards, bringing some distance between you and the other teen.

“Did you really think,” the damned Uchiha moved out of his crouch, slow and menacing, “You could keep me occupied with such cheap trickery? My eyes see everything you plan, Senju.”

“Are your eyes so big that they press onto your brain?” The sword in your hand seemed to vibrate again. With your free hand, you started to go through the signs your father taught you, seal for seal, while you stared at the enemy with hateful eyes. “And I always thought the Uchiha are only pricks. Now I know they are also arrogant and that their confidence shines out of their asses like goddamn sunlight!”

“And Senju know best how to run their mouths off about things they have no plan about!”

“Still better than being part of your rat-ass clan!”

The starlight was just enough to see how blood rose into his face, and you smirked at the knowledge you were able to rile him up that much with a few childish insults. “Well,” he breathed in, obviously trying to find another retort, “You’re… You’re stupid!”

“Can’t you think of anything else? I heard better insults from the babies in their cribs.”

Controlling the tide of the battle. That was what you were able to do like no one else. Not like Tobirama with his tactics and sharp intellect, or like Hashirama with his strength and strange Kekkei Genkai. You could psychological unnerve the enemy like no one else, creep under their skin and exploit their little weaknesses. It worked wonders on the easily swayable, like Hashirama, and only sometimes on Tobirama. You would’ve never thought that the Madara Uchiha was one of the easily manipulated, though, also you wouldn’t have believed that he would deflate that quickly due to a few well-placed insults.

There were just a few meters between them. Sneakily, you gripped the handle of your knife tighter. Sweat ran over your body, assembled in the wrong places and was quickly soaked up by the worn-out undergarments. This was a chance. A small chance, but still a chance. If you could confuse and overwhelm Madara even further with comebacks and retorts, maybe you could get a little nick with your blade in.

And a single nick would be enough.

“Hey, Uchiha!”

His head flew up from his dark muttering into his imaginative beard, the red, bloody eyes immediately bearing right into your soul. You didn’t look directly into them, but you could feel their impact. Goosebumps peppered your arms and you were so close to turn around and flee from the promised, terrible death the teen was able to give, but there was no backing out. Not now.

You tightened the grip around your sword. “We’re laughing about the Uchiha all day long, you know that? Especially after that disaster of a defense at the Hanahaki-River! How disgraceful, to think the pyramid-formation would actually work!”

Like you had touched a particular sensitive topic, even the Uchiha’s black hair seemed to bristle like an enraged cat would bristle her fur. “The pyramid formation for the troops was totally sensible and the only logical choice at the time with the limited resources and time we had against the damn attacks you damn Senju led!”

“Just admit it, we were better than you! We are always better than you!”

“Then why do you lose your territory that easily if you always win, stupid?”

“To give you a false sense of security!” you spat, now also pretty heated. Sure, the confrontations with the Uchiha Clan weren’t as one-sided as you would like to believe, but some of the Uchiha were nasty fighters, that much could you admit. Besides, they had their stupid eyes and their stupid Sharingan, which was basically cheating anyway! “Otherwise, the tears of the Uchiha would drown the land from losing so much and having to retreat to their puny, little shithole they crawled out of!”

You knew you hit too hard home when the air around you heated up and a low growl echoed through the air.

“Take that back!” the Uchiha barked, “Take that back, damn Senju, or I will-!”

Even though he looked straight at you, even though he was watching every move of yours, you knew he wasn’t at all defending himself anymore. He dropped all of his defenses, while trying to fight with words where jutsu and knives were needed.

A grave mistake.

Chakra pumped through your veins and body. Muscles contracted as you charged at Uchiha, legs burning in the haste of sheer knowledge you would hit him. Your sword was raised, the handle again vibrating in your hand like a living being. Seconds ticked by like minutes, fingers cracking into one-handed seals. Just a few more steps. Just a few-!

There. Perfect distance. Uchiha bared his teeth, knowing he wouldn’t make it. Still, he tried to raise his arm in slow motion. With all your might, you slashed down, aiming at the bare patch of skin you could see. Right between the forearm protector and elbow. Time seemed to slow down even more and you could only watch and cheer in silent victory that you would indeed injure the Uchiha.

That was enough. A small wound would be enough for your heirloom to suck his soul out of his body and leave the Uchiha as a dumb bucket, not good but for decoration purposes in a nice, shiny armor.

Just like a pot plant.

But before that could happen, before you could take the soul of the Uchiha heir and possibly end _the goddamn war between the clans_, a thick branch protected the teen. Your knife slammed so hard into the hard wood that the impact sent shockwaves right into your arm. That badly that you had to let go, your wrist hurting and arm shaking.

“What the-!” You whirled around, searching for the source of the branch, but you already knew which dumbass would look at you with big, pleading eyes. There was only one _fucking idiot_ who could grow _a damn forest out of his ass_ if he wanted.

And sure enough, at the other end of the branch, arms reaching out to you, and at least with the _fucking_ decency to look guilty, was Hashirama.

“What the fuck, Hashirama!?” you yelled. Your voice echoed through the forest as you accused your future clan head. “I was about to end this! We could’ve won the war, right here, right now!”

Slowly, he shook his head. “No. I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Why?” Pointing at the Uchiha, you continued to yell, your voice rising and lowering like the tide of the ocean. “Why couldn’t you let me do the right thing? He’s the enemy! He’s the _goddamn enemy_, we are supposed to kill them, they are supposed to kill us, so why, Hashirama, shouldn’t I kill him when I have the _goddamn_ chance!?”

Then, he said probably the last thing you expected.

“Madara is my friend, (Y/N). Of course, I can’t allow you to kill my friend.”

You thought you blacked out for a second. Hashirama… and Madara… The heirs of their respective, _warring,_ clans… Were friends? How? What? _How_?

“Why are you friends with him?” Gritting your teeth, you spat out the words. “With an Uchiha!? They are the worst! Where is your loyalty to the Senju? Where is your loyalty to the clan, to your father, to your brothers, to your many fallen brethren?”

You wanted to continue to spit poison and ugly truth, but Hashirama interrupted you, just as much with his soft voice as with his begging, brown eyes, which bore into yours intently. “But the Uchiha feel the same way, (Y/N). They are also losing their friends and families to _us_, they are just as much suffering. Both sides are in pain because of the never-ending war.”

“And?” But the more Hashirama spoke, the more you felt uncomfortable truth behind his words. True, the blood shed happened on both sides. Death was cruel and also reaped its sow in either clan, but that was no reason to suddenly be buddy-buddy with the Uchiha!

The Uchiha grumped lowly, what caught your attention. “Let her be. She doesn’t understand it, just like I thought. Peace is after all still impossible between our clans.”

You didn’t believe you would ever agree on one topic with one of these Sharingan-creeps, but apparently, today everything was possible.

“No, she’s just… She doesn’t see it like we do yet.” Hashirama said and shook his head. His brown hair whipped through the air, hit his well-fitted armor. “But I can explain it to her. _We_ can it explain it, our dream.”

“It’s a foolish dream. It will never happen.”

“And still, you like to talk about it to no ends.”

They talked over your head. Growling lowly, you bend over and grabbed your sword. While sheathing it, you gave both of these stupid idiots a death glare. They didn’t even notice, just started talking and debating, discussing and dreaming. A snort escaped you, before you jumped up and into the trees, not caring about Hashirama and his desperate “Hey!” when he finally noticed you weren’t waiting for him and his new Uchiha buddy to come to a conclusion.

Fucking Uchiha. Was that their new strategy? Pretending to be nice and seeking peace, only to rope the happy-go-lucky heir of the Senju into a trap? It was to be expected of these lying, damned-!

Flying steps behind and the rustling of leaves. You weren’t surprised to find your clan brother beside you, only stared with an iron will ahead and ignored the pleading puppy-eyes which were thrown at you.

“(Y/N)… Please don’t tell anyone.” Hashirama mumbled. “If my father would know, then he would-!

“Anything he would do,” you interrupted him harshly, “would be the right thing. Ever thought he could be a bait for a trap? That he could just alert his clan to capture or kill you on the spot? I don’t know which one would be worse.”

“The first one, actually. With me as a bargain advantage, they could make some serious threats to my father and my clan.”

So, this dumb braindead idiot actually thought about the possibility. And then he was still talking with the Uchiha?

Before you could berate him further, Hashirama nodded. “Yes, I’m aware meeting with him is not very wise. I’m aware our clans are both too stubborn to see past their own hatred. But there has to be something better than this. All the war, all the fights, all the training. We’re living in fear and cower instead of living our life to the fullest. You know it’s true, (Y/N). You know that we could’ve died today. We’re barely old enough to bear children or get married. Now, what are Itama and Kawarama going to do? Also join the fight? Are they going to die, just like that?”

Your heart sunk. Even though your connection to the younger brothers of Hashirama and Tobirama was a shallow one, seeing them playing around while their older brothers trained hard let you grew fond of them. Unwanted, the picture of them both laying lifeless flashed through your mind.

No, that wasn’t fair. It also wasn’t fair to expect them to fight and die, just like that. Without the chance of living a life without being impacted by the war.

“That’s our life,” you said, totally indifferent to your inner thought process, “there’s nothing we can change about…”

It dawned upon you what exactly Hashirama planned. Alone, without the reassurance someone else of the Uchiha wanted peace just as much as he did, there was no way to realize that crazy, ridiculous, _wonderful_ plan, but with Madara…

They were both the heirs of their respective clans. When their fathers would die, they held the fate and the tide of war in their hands. Hashirama and Madara both could actually change the fate of their clans, the fate of their war-torn lands, the fate of their small shinobi-world.

“Now, you understand.” Hashirama nodded, deeply in thought. “It was a happy coincidence which led me towards Madara. It is also lucky he feels the same way as I do, that we have to work together to make this fighting stop. But you are wrong in two things, (Y/N)…”

Suddenly, he stopped on a thick branch, which forced you to also abruptly stop, just a few branches ahead to catch his words. And if you wanted or not, your mind was already captured by the sheer possibility of peace, of freedom, of hope for a better time.

“You are wrong in two things, (Y/N).” he repeated. “Madara was always full of doubt we would be able to realize our dreams, so he pulled back and cut our friendship out of his life. And two…”

Hashirama looked over, back into the thick bushes of trees, certainly right into the direction of the other lost dreamer running back into the safety of the clan compounds, which were also a cage for the incoming death and destruction they would wage against each other. “I have not given up on our idea. I won’t, ever. We all deserve to experience peace, and now that I know the other side wants it too… I will never give up.”

And for a second, a mere blink of an eye, you believed him. Believed him wholeheartedly, with every fiber of your very being. Your muscles slacked and tears waited right behind your eyelids as you looked at the future of the Senju Clan. A bright and warm future, but then, the reality crashed back into you. Even if Hashirama one day would be the clan leader, it would be a long, stony and hard way to be able to convince the Uchiha to agree to a peace treaty. Also, the Senju’s wouldn’t sit still when their leader would try to go that route. Too many lives had been lost to the other side, too much blood had spilled. Hatred had grown on both sides like weed, and just like the weed, the roots sat deeply underneath the surface and would probably never fade completely.

“Good luck with that.” You turned around, away from Hashirama and the impossible reality he tried to show you. “You will need it.”

~ X ~

Since that incident, three years had passed, but you hadn’t forgotten a single second of that night. The fight with Madara and the unfinished business you had with him. Hashirama’s vision of the future and how he would try to turn the fate of their clans around. The first kills of your life, and they hadn’t been the last ones, either. Fueled by the new determination to be better, be stronger and be faster than before to maybe one day, one day beat Madara yourself before he could get his hands on Hashirama (the dumb wood-brain he was, he would probably not dare to kill the Uchiha even if he had the chance). You couldn’t take the risk of your brother-in-arms dying just because of his perceived blindness to the evil in the world.

So, you trained. Trained until your hands bled from holding your heirloom the whole day and night. Trained until you fell into bed and your eyes closed before your head even touched the pillow. Trained and trained and trained until you found yourself able to buy custom-made armor, clothes and delicious food for your family. In the Senju Clan, you weren’t anymore the small girl who went against the will of your mother. Now, you were a proud kunoichi. Strong, fast, knowledgeable, intelligent. A real threat, not only fodder for the frontlines and to throw yourself into an enemy attack to protect someone more important than you.

Now, you were the person which was to be protected.

You tried not to allow that, but sometimes, in the quickly changing tides of a battle, you didn’t notice everything. Then, a younger man or woman would suddenly be in your back, smile at you with blood rolling from their lips when their eyes rolled upwards, in their stomachs still the blade which was meant for you. Every time, their death would weigh heavily on your mind. Another life wasted in this endless torture of an existence.

But then, the next day of blood spill and fight would come and you had to forget about the dead ones to concentrate on staying alive. Going further than your chakra allowed, overcoming foe for foe, pressing forward and winning fights you were not supposed to win. Alongside Hashirama and Tobirama, you made a name for yourself. You were feared by your enemies and respected by your clan.

Your father was proud for your success, and your mother… Well, she came around to like it. Not necessarily wholeheartedly, but enough to make sure your now fitting armor was properly adjusted and your weapons were always stocked and sharp.

Not that she didn’t try to set you up anymore. As a war-hardened kunoichi, who was able to fight at the side of the Senju future clan head and his brother, both known for being true monsters on the battlefield, you received all kinds of attention. Being a strong kunoichi meant you were sought-after. Many other shinobi wanted to get to know you on a more intimate level, some even went as far as to consider marriage and children, but you declined and rejected all advances. There was simply no time for something like romance, love and funding a family.

Sometimes, you would remember Hashirama’s vision. Sometimes, you would also long for this promise of being able to safely love, without worrying about losing your lover tomorrow, next week or next month. But the next fight with the Uchiha was never far off and didn’t leave any time to mull for long over impossible hopes and dreams.

Until, one late evening, you were training all alone in a nearby forest, you could feel Hashirama’s chakra brushing through the trees nearby. You paused and wiped away at the sweat which had collected on your forehead, chest heaving and limbs slightly shaking from the exhaustion.

What was he doing? He seemed to search for something, for _someone_, you realized, when his route suddenly changed towards you and your little spot to train. There was barely any time to catch your breath, before Hashirama landed right in front of you, the long hair loose and adorned by leaves and little branches.

“There you are!” he exclaimed and beamed at you. “I was searching for you for a whole while now! Follow me,” he lowered his voice like someone else could listen to him, “Madara wants to see you.”

You blinked slowly. “Madara wants to see _me_?”

“Yeah! Something important, apparently. About his little brother!”

“I don’t know his brother at all!” you hissed through your teeth. “What the fuck, Hashirama! Madara is our enemy and you know my opinion about him!”

“Please, (Y/N)… It’s very important to him!”

“Why should I care what is important for an Uchiha?”

Hashirama shook his head. “Please. He said when you come and talk to him, he would also start planning again with me. Planning for our dream.”

A dark growl escaped you. “The village.”

He ignored your grim tone. “Yes, the village. Our peaceful future, just think about it!”

“What does that have to do with me?!”

“It has everything to do with you since Madara made you part of the deal!” Hashirama used his big puppy-dog-eyes. Someone should’ve told them they only worked on children, not on lanky teenagers with hardening, sharpening faces and the power to utterly obliterate an entire town on his own. His big, brown eyes bore into yours, his bottom lip started to wobble slightly and the eyebrows rose higher than you had ever witnessed on the man. “Please,” he asked again, “Please, (Y/N). Please. If you can’t do it for Madara, please. Do it for me. Talk to him and listen to what he wants for me, and nothing else.”

Dammit. Sure, you were pretty much immune against his ridiculous puppy-eyes. But you weren’t safe from the damn demands he made. First of all, Hashirama was still your superior. One could easily forget that little fact watching you two interact, watching Hashirama interact with other people. His position as the future clan head demanded respect, demanded obedience, demanded obeying to orders or demands he made, if now or in the upcoming months and years. In comparison, you were definitely of a lower rank, despite your fast ascendance through the hierarchy of the Senju Clan. To be exact, you would never be of the same standing as Hashirama or Tobirama, just because you weren’t born as a boy to the current clan head.

And, to be fair, it wasn’t like he demanded you to make immediate peace with Madara. Hashirama was very aware you didn’t like the Uchiha and everything he stood for, and he was probably also aware that Madara saw you in the same, if not in a worse light.

_Just a talk. Just a nice little talk with Madara, the worst of all Uchiha. Nice._

“You’re staying with me?” you asked. “You’re making sure he’s not going to attack me suddenly?”

“He would never do that!”

It took all of your control to not hiss at the overly trusting man. “_I_ would do that, Hashirama. If I get the chance to kill the next head of the Uchiha to cut this war between us short, if I get to kill the same man who killed dozens of our kin, if I am strong enough to do _exactly_ that, then I _would _do that. This is not some vague theory, not some kind of cloud castle. If it means I would be able to single-handedly end this feud in favor of my clan, then I _would_ kill Madara without a second thought. So, why should he feel any different when it comes to my person, when I killed also lots of his clansmen and have not the protection of a valuable, yet brittle hope into a hopeless dream?”

Hashirama could only stare at you with wide eyes. It was as clear as day that he never even considered that, totally believing in the goodness of Madara’s heart. With a low huff, you rolled your own towards the sky, mumbled a quick “Whatever,” before gesturing at the other. “Just lead the way, would you?”

Surprisingly, the way wasn’t too long. Only a few minutes of following Hashirama through the trees, avoiding branches and cobwebs like it was your second nature, then, he jumped down to the proximity of the river running through some unclaimed property. You could hear the water whispering and also, strangely enough, the sound of a stone ditching over the slowly running river.

Cutting through a few more bushes, you were able to finally spot Madara. Immediately, your whole body tensed up, ready to fight and defend yourself if the Uchiha decided to abandon his strange friendship with Hashirama and attack. The other man had turned his back to you, weighing another flat stone in his hands and measuring the water in front of him with watchful eyes. Black clothes hung from the muscular figure, the long black hair hanging over his back and swaying with his movements as Madara seized the stone in his hands. Throwing it up, catching it again, flipping the stone over, rubbing his thumb over the smooth surface.

He was the same age as Hashirama. Ditching stones was a child’s game, innocent and ambitious at the same time, and in that moment, as you watched the Uchiha trying to decide where to place his feet to properly ditch the stone he finally selected, made him all the more human.

_I don’t want to see him as a “human”. He’s the enemy and never shouldn’t be anything more than that._

Scowling, you hid yourself behind Hashirama, who didn’t even make the effort to conceal his arrival. Like a wild boar, not caring for the destruction it caused in its path, he plopped down onto the earth, already greeting Madara like a long-lost childhood friend (what probably was truer than you wanted to imagine). “Hey, great to see you! And, did you manage to skip the stone over the entire riverbed now?”

To be fair, Madara not even attempted to answer the stupid lightweight attempt at a strained conversation. Instantly, the man dropped the stone and swiveled around, the black, intense eyes zeroing in on your figure, which caused you to only hide yourself even more behind Hashirama.

“There you are,” he growled and stalked forward, “you and your damn butter knife!”

_Butter knife!?_

“Damn Uchiha!” you cursed. “It’s not a butter knife, it’s my family heirloom!”

“It doesn’t matter to me what the fuck you call it! This damn cursed _knife_,” he spat the word in front of your feet, “made my brother a living _corpse_! He’s breathing, he’s blinking, but apart from that, he’s as good as a rotten vegetable!”

Oh. According to the spies of the Senju, there was indeed some kind of negative commotion going on in the Uchiha territory. But to believe you accidentally seemed to have nicked the brother of Madara Uchiha with your “butter knife”…

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “What a coincidence. But it shouldn’t be that much of a difference to before. All Uchiha’s are-!”

_“I don’t care! Return him to normal!”_

You didn’t need Hashirama’s warning glare or the sharp elbow pressing into your side. You didn’t need those things to see that Madara was at the edge of falling apart. When you looked closer; really close for the first time, you noticed the dark bags beneath his dark eyes, the new lines of worry and anger carved into his face, the wary and stressed expression in his eyes. He was suffering, suffering by the fate of his brother, suffering by your hand and your jutsu, suffering by the feelings of an older brother who hadn’t been able to protect his younger sibling.

You didn’t want to notice these things, but you did, nearly had no other choice but to notice. Madara was defenseless, open and raw like an unprotected nerve. A state you had never seen on the other teen and never expected to see. Was it really because of his brother? Was he really that much like… That much like…?

Hashirama stared at you, then at your heirloom, back into your face and then right back to your knife. “Can you do that?” he whisper-yelled in his usual booming tone. “And if you can, did you do it to Izuna?”

“Is that his name?” Your nose curled automatically in a disgusted snarl. “And it pretty much sounds like I stole his soul. Not on purpose, I have no idea how he looks like, but he could’ve gotten nicked in a fight. It was a pretty wild battle and I reaped a lot of souls that day.”

“That’s not the point!” The brunet threw a worried glance at Madara, who was very close to just lose his barely controlled demeanor and growl and shout at everyone and everything which he happened to set his sights on. Hastily, he continued, obviously more worried to experience the wrath of his friend than yours. “Please. Tell me if you can reverse it.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, it actually is!”

“We have no reason to do anything for them.”

“But I ask you to. Please, (Y/N). Do it for me.”

You snorted. “The fuck I will. Sorry Hashirama, but I have to stand firm. I’m not going to risk my life by going into the Uchiha-compound.”

“He can carry him out of there!”

“I don’t give a singly flying fuck. I’m not going to do it.” You answered. That was it, your last word. You crossed your arms over your chest, glared at Hashirama, then at Madara, stubbornness and stoic acceptance of what was about to come running through your body.

Surprisingly though, it wasn’t Madara berating you. No, the following sentence came from Hashirama, in an unusually serious, dangerously low voice, which was usually reserved for his enemies who hurt his comrades beyond human comprehension. “(Y/N). I didn’t think I had to resort to this, but now, for the sake of a future without deaths, I will use my position as the future clan head and _order_ you to right what is wrong. Return Izuna’s soul, no matter what it takes. Is that understood?”

For a second, you dared to keep your mouth shut.

Hashirama’s death glare intensified. “Do I make myself clear?” he asked once more, even lower, even stronger, the syllables rumbling through your bones and the wood around you slightly groaning and rustling. One could easily forget that he was one of the strongest shinobi alive, and you had indeed forgotten that. It was almost too easy, seeing him doting on his younger brothers and listening to his speeches about peace and living together in one big village.

For a few more moments, you dared to defy your superior. Dared and persisted, but eventually, you had to give up. With hesitant defeat in your heart, you had to lower your head.

“Yes, Hashirama-_sama_,” you pronounced the title as clear as possible, “your wish is my command.”

“Good.” He wasn’t happy to resort to command you, but in the end, his will would be yours. He was after all the future clan head and your cell leader, and never before you had questioned his commands. Until now. “You will go with Madara to the Uchiha and do everything in your power to return Izuna’s soul. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes. Very clear.”

“Thus,” _what, he isn’t finished yet, _“you will follow every order of Madara, as long as its compliant to complete the mission as fast as possible.”

No matter what, _that_ you couldn’t let slide. “What?” You gawked full of indignant rage at Hashirama. “What the actual fuck!?”

“(Y/N)…”

“You can’t expect me to listen to _him_,” you gestured towards Madara, who watched the show with an overly smug expression on his face which pissed you off even further, “when I’m on enemy territory! You’re sending me to die in their territory only to chase after your soap bubble dreams-!”

“_Enough!”_

One bark from the man and the forest around shook its branches. Wood groaned loudly as the plants and trees reacted to Hashirama, reacted to his frustration and anger; anger at you. His dark eyes were nearly glowing when they were again fixated on you, burning with the emotions he never suppressed. “You _will_ follow his orders. I trust him to not hurt you in any way, nor to willingly lead you to your demise. Madara, do whatever needs to be done, in reasonable limitations.”

“For once, we’re of the same opinion.” The older teen grumbled, but on his face stood the same kind of mirth a mischievous devil would spot at spotting his next victim. His long, black hair fell over his shoulder as he nodded into your direction, words still directed at Hashirama. “Anything? To make sure she’s protected on our territory?”

“Not anything - !”

“Yes.” Hashirama interrupted. “Anything which secures her safety and security.”

“You’re aware of our traditions?”

“Which-? _Aaaah_.”

“Yes, that one.”

One concerned look at you. “She won’t like it. At all.”

Now, Madara joined Hashirama, but his eyes were creased in the little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really? Makes the show even better.”

Out of instinct, your shoulders drew upwards. “Show?” you asked, “What kind of show?”

~ X ~

“You’re not serious!”

“I am. The most serious I have ever been.”

“I haven’t agreed to this!”

“Listen,” suddenly, you found yourself face-first shoved into the dirt by Madara, swallowing earth and grass like you were a damn horse, “if you keep shouting like that, the damn guards will hear us and attack you! Now, shut the fuck up and let me carry you as my bride!”

A ridiculous plan, based on the _stupid_ traditions of the _wayward, superstitious _Uchiha. Stealing potential brides from other clans, the brides chosen and carefully selected by their strength, speed and beauty. You heard of this tradition; heard of it and judged it as possibly a good idea to weaken the enemies and maybe as a tiny little bit romantic, but to realize you were now stuck between a rock and a hard place let you rethink your earlier opinion.

“I can't fucking believe Hashirama agreed to this,” you hissed and scrambled again into a kneeling position, “I can’t fucking believe he pushed me so far down.”

Playing a struggling bride for an _Uchiha_. Your mouth curled into a disgusted snarl. Unbelievable. And the worst was: he would carry you. Carry you around like a prize he had rightfully won and claimed as his own. The entire clan would believe you belonged to Madara, according to their rules and traditions. That you belonged to him like a slave belonged to its master, without its own will and without any voice.

That it was only for appearance reasons, to protect you on the ground of the Uchiha didn’t matter. For a short while, it would be your reality. Other people would judge you for it, for not being strong enough to resist Madara’s kidnapping, for letting yourself getting whisked away. Not to talk about that Hashirama basically abandoned you, just to _maybe _realize his dream of a peaceful future. It wasn’t set in stone that you could even help Izuna, at least, you had no idea how you should be able to. The heirloom didn’t have exactly a manual with it when your father gave it to you.

Suddenly, you were heaved into the air. Arms flailing and legs kicking out, you were so close to scream into the night. Only for a shoulder to hit your stomach, which turned the scream on your tongue into a low wheeze. Mortified, you looked round, tried to make sense of the situation. You were hanging upside down, stomach pressed into a strong shoulder, a steel-like arm slung around your waist, arms hanging down and brushing against a broad back. Your ass was raised into the air and it still took you several seconds to actually realize what Madara had done.

Immediately, you started to hit him. “_Let! Me! DOWN! _You imbecile, rude, fucking - !”

Madara had the audacity to _chuckle_. “Yes, just like that. Struggle a bit more, if you want. If you can.”

This damn arrogant dickhead! Wordlessly growling, you struggled, wiggled, kicked and flailed out like a wild cat, desperate to escape this additional humiliation.

_Being carried like this, being, being shamed like this! I hate Madara and I hate you for making me endure this, Hashirama!_

Tears burned in your eyes as Madara started to walk, the ground swaying and every step shaking your whole body. Blood slowly started to rush into your head as you heard the first (and probably not the last) surprised “Madara-sama!” of the night, you wanted to hide yourself in the dark mane of your kidnapper.

_(He smells nice, though.)_

Madara’s voice rumbled through his chest, deep and used to command people around. “A good night today, isn’t it, Ryuuto-san?”

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Oh, that?” The shoulder beneath you twitched, what caused you to hiss lowly at the Uchiha. “Yeah, I thought it was time to claim my bride before someone else could do so. Plus, now my father won’t bother me anymore about new heirs for the clan.”

“Who is it?”

“Ask her yourself.” Madara whipped around. You met the curious eyes of the poor guard with malice and hate, who stumbled backwards when his eyes finally made sense of your face.

“This is (Y/N) Senju!” he whispered. “Praise the gods, Madara-sama… You really chose her as your bride?”

Another shrug and again, you were whirled around as Madara turned to face his subordinate. “Her strength and beauty are without question. Plus, it will weaken the Senju noticeably in numbers and blood.”

“But your father - !”

“My father has no say in our old traditions.” In the midst of struggling, you froze at the cold tone of the teen. His hand clamped down on your waist, stronger and harder than you felt comfortable with. “I chose who I will marry and my choice is her. She’s fitting, no one can deny that, and her blood will make us stronger, without a doubt. I also don’t really understand why I have to explain myself to you. Was there a change in clan heads during the hours I was gone?”

“N-no, of course not, Madara-sama…”

“I thought you would say that.” You growled when he hoisted you further up his shoulder, hand tightening on instinct around your waist, “and when the next time my actions are questioned, ask yourself if it’s in your range of rights to question _my _decisions in any way.”

He almost stated it like it was the law to obey him. A cold shudder wandered down your back. It couldn’t be… Did the old Uchiha step back and made the position of the clan head already available to his son? Did that happen?

_It can’t be. The old Uchiha is the epitome of the infamous stubbornness of their clan. He would’ve never given up his position!_

_But if he did…? Then…_

Your struggling started anew. Flailing arms, limbs, feet, screeching and screaming at Madara in your fit of absolute indignant rage. “_I can walk on my own! _Fucking let me down, you asshole, you arrogant idiot, damn thickheaded, narcissistic fucker - !”

Madara only chuckled at your antics, like a father watching his child throwing a meaningless tantrum as he strode forward. “I must say, your performance is outstanding. No one would suspect you being with me here willingly.”

“That’s because _I’m not_!”

“If you scream a little bit louder,” his head moved, brushed against your hip, “the next guard will totally hear us.”

“I don’t give a fuck!”

“So, you favor dying over getting out of here alive?”

You were very close to just shout out a demonstrative “yes”, but then reconsidered quickly. Death really wasn’t worth it, especially considering that it was not you who would be in trouble if the Senju found out where and by whose hands you died, but possibly your parents and Hashirama. If your corpse was found in the territory of the Uchiha, a possible new wave of resentment and fighting would ensue. And despite your loyalty to the Senju, despite your hate for the Uchiha, despite your earlier discussion with Hashirama. Being the reason for new death and new sorrow wasn’t your goal.

Even though your entire body fought against your mind, you forced yourself to relax. Like a wet bag of noodles, you hung over Madara’s shoulder, ass up and his arm around your waist loosening the tiniest bit, you bore the following gasps and shouts of terrified surprise with the dignity of a travelling hooker.

_No way around it, so hold your chin up high and keep going._

It took at least half an hour more until Madara stopped and almost gently dropped you on your own two feet again. On wobbly feet, you tried to stumble backwards, but Madara quickly caught you. His iron hand laid around your wrist, not letting go and not letting you run free.

You glared at your kidnapper. “Hands off,” you hissed, “I don’t need your filthy Uchiha hands on me.”

“Trust me,” there it was again, that damn cocky smirk, “you need my hands on you if you want to live. You have two choices here, Senju. Either, you stop being such a little stuck up wench and accept that for now, I’m your best bet at surviving, or you rat us out. In that case, I have to kill you with my own two hands and believe me, to show my clan I still can be trusted despite my poor choice in a bride, I would make it a slow death.”

You doubted his dedication not for a second. With a last, menacing growl of a wolf stuck in a cage, you gave in, slackened your muscles and followed Madara into the deeper parts of the Uchiha territory.

No one from the Senju ever had been able to go that far inside the territory of the enemy. No one had ever seen the compound of the Uchiha clan, like no Uchiha ever had seen the compound of the Senju had lived to tell the tale. You would be the first one and, in your mind, you were already standing in front of the clan elders, drawing them a perfect plan of the layout.

This wasn’t forever. Get in, cure the _fucking _Uchiha brother, get out. Easy. Begrudgingly, you trudged after Madara as he passed a few thick bushes and trees, only to step suddenly into a wide, artificially created open space. The only point of connection was your joined hands. His fingers closed around your wrist; your hand balled up into a tight fist. So tight your knuckles had turned white.

Quickly, your eyes flashed around, taking everything in you could and trying to memorize any details which could be lifesavers in the future. The U-shape formation of the huts, made to be defended easily. The wall of trees was a natural defense, but the additional, second wall made out of stones, wood and fire-hardened clay would be hard to overcome, but not impossible with the usage of a few well-coordinated earth-jutsu. A few watchtowers interrupted the manmade wall, adorned with guards which were immediately on guard when the two of you stepped into the light of their torches, before they relaxed when they recognized Madara.

He was greeted with enthusiastic whistles and happy shouts.

“Madara-sama is back!”

“He’s back! Open the gates, _open the gates_!”

And, maybe even more importantly…

“_He has a bride!”_

You closed your eyes. Now, the news would spread through the clan like wildfire. If Madara really was the new clan leader, if his father really stepped down, then being the kidnapped bride of the new clan head of the Uchiha would attract all the attention of a clan in war times.

There were only a few good news to be happy about, after all.

Still dragged by Madara, you passed the gates, hastily opened for the young and cocky Uchiha. He dared to wave at them with his free hand, showed off his skill and talent by bringing home such a good little wife. You bared your teeth, bared your teeth at him, at the guards, at the surrounding people. Men, women, children. You weren’t a trophy to be shown off, to be paraded around. A proud kunoichi, wandering through the shadows and fighting with her life on the line. Strong and dependable, that was what you were.

At least, some of them backed off. A few men automatically reached for their kunai, one or two women pulled their sleeves up, and a small child of not even six years showed off its own small, pearly white teeth, hate in his eyes and anger written all over his small face. Grim satisfaction welled in your chest and your hateful grimace grew into a terrible grin, all teeth and sharp edges.

_Yeah. Never forget who I am and what I have done._

Madara led you onward, so you couldn’t keep up the eye contact with the kid. One last hateful exchange, and you were dragged further. Into the middle of the round, right in front of the biggest building of the formation. Without a doubt, the house of the clan head and its family.

You swallowed the big gulp of panic lodged in your throat. _Your _house, for the time being.

Again, a big, fat glob was stuck in your throat. Panic, icy and simple. Fear, terrible and running deep. Knowing you were deep in the shits was one thing, but being basically thrown to the Uchiha’s, presented as Madara’s wife-to-be… You couldn’t think of something even worse than that.

The clan built a small street for Madara and you to go through, only to close the passed empty space immediately. Even if you could’ve managed to rip yourself away from the relentless grip of the dickhead, you couldn’t have escaped. And, to be completely honest, the mere attempt to escape wasn’t wise. Counting the angry faces in the crowd was easy enough.

Their hate in your back, and the only “friend” you had was only using you.

Abruptly, Madara turned around to his people. With his hand still gripping your wrist, he also swirled you around and forced you to face the crowd, when all you wanted to do was hide yourself with the ridiculously long mane of his.

“My clan,” his voice carried easily over their heads and into every little nook and cranny, “it was time to follow one of our oldest traditions. As my father stepped down and allowed me to take his place, it was my time to go and find a suitable bride.”

More eyes glanced into your direction. Some curious, more distrusting and not only a few seemed to plan your timely demise.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Madara said, “I can read it in your hearts. Why (Y/N) Senju? Why her, one of the biggest threats we had to face over the recent years? Well, we all can’t deny she’s strong. A good addition to our clan. Her blood is mixed, her face an Uzumaki from the sea, her mother a Senju. And absolutely no one can deny her beauty, inside nor outside of battle.”

You blinked. Once, twice. Then, you turned to the Uchiha. Beautiful? Did he mean that? Wait, didn't he say that before?

His fingers dug a tiny bit deeper into your wrist. “Still, some of you may ask, why a Senju? Why (Y/N), the stealer of souls, the menace we had to fear for so long? Well, I have her word she will try to cure my brother. She will try to bring him back, to us, to his family!”

Oh, you really wished he hadn’t said that. With growing horror, you watched how the crowd broke almost into a unison cheer, obviously happy they would see Madara’s brother again on his own two feet, while Madara slightly leaned over to you to whisper a few well-chosen words into your ear.

“Like this, you should have no problems inside the compound anymore.”

_This fool! My problems just now increased tenfold because of your promise that I would cure him!_

Because if not… All these cheering people would turn on you quicker than a storm could turn onto the ones who sowed wind.


	2. Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night in the Uchiha Clan could go better. 
> 
> A lot better, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the second part of the Madara Request! I hope you all like it, and I'm also playing with the thought of expanding this request to a five-chapter-fic ^^''  
We will see how it goes.

To say you jumped down Madara’s throat the very second you two were out of sight of the village would be an understatement. If you jabbed your index finger any harder into his chest, it would come out at the other side.

“What the actual fuck,” you hissed, lips curled into a hateful grimace, “do you think did you just promise the clan, you mentally challenged blockhead!?”

“I gave them what they needed to hear!”

“That’s the most stupid excuse I heard so far,” your steps echoed through the empty, dark hallway of the big house, “Don’t you know in what kind of position you pushed me!? Don’t you realize that, you fucking, unbelievably stupid, thoughtless _Uchiha_?!”

Madara stomped right after you, hair bristling and face tugged into an ugly grimace. “What have I done wrong, huh? You can walk around freely now! The clan won’t disturb you, they will leave you alone!”

“They will also fucking drag me outside to burn me on a damn pyre if I fail to bring your brother’s soul back! Ever thought about that, you thick-headed mule?”

Of course not. Madara’s face slackened, only for a glint of understanding finally coming to live in his cursed eyes, but before his tiny brain eventually would find the power to send impulses down to his mouth to produce the next wave of unintelligent words, you already threw your hands into the air with a frustrated groan.

“Why am I even trying to hammer this home to you? It’s not like you would suddenly _understand_ sense and logic!”

“Senju, I swear-!”

“On what do you swear, Uchiha? On your stupid pride? On your damned eyes? Not on your intelligence, because you obviously don’t have any!”

He was so close to bristle his _stupid_ mop of hair like an angry cat, hissing and spitting at you, even though you both knew you were in the right. “We proved our intelligence more than once in battle, don’t you ever forget that! Our ambush on the convoy of the Hatake-Clan last month was perfectly executed!”

“Perfectly executed? You take that sloppy ambush other clans would’ve seen from a mile away as a proof of your superior intelligence, when everyone knows that the Hatake wouldn’t notice an ambush for one of their priced fields! They aren’t shinobi, you imbecile, just farmers!”

Well, not only that, not anymore. Yes, the Uchiha-ambush had taken a considerate amount of grains away from the Hatake, and yes, the proud clan of farmers was sick of being robbed off their hard work again and again by the clans at war and in need of food. Thus, they had turned with a huge request to the Senju, the only clan who never bothered with their caravans and trade routes, to teach the usually friendly and peaceful Hatake’s in the different shinobi arts.

Not that Madara needed to know that. He and his stubborn clan would learn about that fact soon enough. Despite the Hatake-Clan not having any prior history with fighting or molding chakra, they learned surprisingly fast and showed quite some terrifying talent when it came to nin-jutsu. Their lightning-techniques especially still sent shudders down your spine.

But again, not Madara’s business.

Before Uchiha could recover from that fatal blow, you turned around and stomped, back straight like a rod and hands balled into fists, down the hallway, every step thundering through the empty house. An empty house, not an ounce of life in it. No window had been lit when Madara dragged you inside, not even the flicker of the tiniest candlelight. No one was home (_like in Madara’s head_) or just asleep, what wouldn’t be an issue for any longer if you kept stomping like that.

_Urgh. Fine. I’m too nice for my own good._

You relented, silenced your steps, before you completely stopped when faced with several doors which lead to only-gods-knew-where. Probably torture chambers for little kittens who had the misfortune to waddle in front of Madara’s feet, or the prison where you were supposed to sleep. Right. Sleep. A room, a bed, hell, a shabby mat would be good at this point.

Still with your back as straight as possible and a face as icy as the lands of the Samurai, you turned around to glare at your imprisoner, who glared with the same intensity back.

“Where do I sleep?” you asked. “Outside, maybe? Now that the villagers won’t disturb me anymore?”

Madara grunted. “Don’t be silly, Senju. We’re not barbarians.”

You were so close to add your own thoughts on the matter, but just in time, bit your tongue to keep the snippy remark in. No need to stir up more drama tonight.

A crook of his finger, nothing else was necessary to follow Madara up the stairs of the still dark and empty mansion. The panels of wood creaked only slightly beneath your feet as you climbed the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other balled into a tight fist. New wood, or a well-cared home. Considering the overall state of the house, the latter was probably true. The smell of cedar, candle wax and citrus grass laid in the air as you ascended on the second level of the house.

Madara was only a few steps away, looking over his shoulder while you tried to sneakily look for one (_only one, please, just a single damn one!_) way to get out without alerting the entire clan or Madara, for the matter.

He noticed. Of course, he did, and saw the need to comment on it, with a damn smug smile growing on his face. “No way out, little Senju. You have to keep your part of the deal.”

“In comparison to damn Uchiha’s,” you instantly hissed back, “I have the actual honor to follow through on my word! Though, I would be a bad shinobi if I wouldn’t even try to find a way out of my situation, wouldn’t I?”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you with the same smug smirk on his face you already had the feeling you would learn to hate.

“What?” you asked, teeth painfully clicking together. “Did you already lose your train of thought?”

“Not at all,” he gestured over to a door to his right, “we just reached your rooms.”

_Rooms. Did he just say… Rooms? Like, plural? Several rooms?_

Before you could question him at all, Madara rolled his eyes and nearly ripped the sliding doors open, before gesturing you yet again to step inside. “Go. I still need to take care of something and taking care of _you_ really drains my energy.”

“Fuck you too.” Maybe Madara would drop dead if you glared at him hard enough. Quickly, you squeezed yourself past the man into the dark room, stumbling nearly over your own feet in the darkness.

A fine shinobi you were. A breathy chuckle in your back told you enough to dart around, take the single step between the two of you and get out your heirloom from its sheath. He definitely looked better with a sharp knife pressing to his adam’s apple, and even better with the slight tinge of fear in his damned eyes when you pressed a little bit harder into his unprotected, oh-so-soft skin. So close to getting his soul swept away. So close in joining his brother.

A little twitch of your hand, and Madara sucked in a harsh breath. “Do you still dare to laugh at me?” you asked and cocked your head. “As you stated, I was _chosen_ as your bride because my “beauty in battle matches my beauty outside of it”, wasn’t it?”

“Sweet words,” he spat out, “to please the crowd. Should I tell them that you’re a hellcat and unbearable to be around?”

“Better than all the big, flowery sentences you gave them. Not to mention the false promises.”

“Goddamn, _woman_!”

You pulled a grimace, imitating his voice as best as you could. “Goddamn, _man_! Just leave me alone! Haven’t your words done enough harm for tonight? I don’t want to bear your ugly face for a second longer today!” You took a quick step back, sheathing your weapon again and mumbling a sharp curse under your breath. _Fucking damned Uchiha! You couldn’t fail quick enough to leave this dumb Clan behind._

Madara’s nose perked up as he sneered, the chiseled features turned into a fearful-wary-angry mask. “Have a great night, my bride. Tomorrow, you will start for what I brought you here, and you will not leave before you have finished what you promised. Or I will personally kill you in front of the entire Uchiha Clan.”

Blindly, you reached for something. Something to throw, something to throw at him and hurt him with. Your hands found something heavy. Porcelain. Good enough. It made a nice loud, breaking sound when it hit the heavy door, right after Madara closed it.

Fucking bastard. Didn’t even leave you with a damn light!

The darkness was thick enough to suffocate you. Gritting your teeth, you stumbled around, hit your toes and fingers at various sharp edges and blunt object, making you hiss and curse even louder. Maybe Madara would hear it and annoy him. Maybe even enough to let you go.

_Yeah, that won’t happen. I’m his only hope to somehow get the soul of his brother back. He will kill me before he lets me go._

Finally. A candle. You could smell the wax as you lifted the candle up. A sort flicker of chakra, a quick seal, and the fire started to lighten up the room. _The rooms_, you corrected yourself grimly as you turned slowly, a hand shielding the small flame from going out again.

From what you could make out, these were indeed the quarters for a stolen bride. Rich paintings decorated the partly wooden, partly paper walls. Vibrant colors, from what you could tell in the weak light of the candle flame, but that was something you had to determine further when the sun rose again. The tatami mats beneath your feet seemed sturdy enough for a second level, nevertheless you minded your step as you walked through the room. Never step onto the black lines between the mats. These were the perfect spots for hidden daggers or spears to come out.

The first room with the door leading into the hallway seemed to be some kind of entrance hall. Nothing but a small table, some cupboards with books and a few plants. To the right was another sliding door which you carefully slid open, candle in one hand and the other settled onto the handle of your dagger.

The bedroom. Sighing in relief, you stepped inside. Finally, you could peel your clothes off and sink into sleep, maybe even wash yourself beforehand. A window allowed the spare moonlight to fall into the room and painted the silhouettes of the soft-looking futon, the drawers and another sliding door into a cold, silvery light. Hopefully a bathroom.

_Please. Please let it be a bathroom. _

Strangely enough, even if you had washed yourself this morning — this morning! Such a long time ago, it seemed! — you already felt like a thin layer of grime and dirt had sneaked its way right beneath your clothes. Placing the candle onto a nearby drawer, you started to undress, always checking the door in your back for any kind of activity. You weren’t too sure if Madara was above such petty things as barging into the room while you wanted to change. He could do it. Quickly, you undressed and, even when it went against your inner wishes, you slipped into the thin silk yukata which you found after several minutes of nearly blind feeling around the futon, hidden underneath the thick blanket. The soft fabric fell like a sheer trickle of water around your body. Light, cool, a blessing against your heated skin. You had never worn a yukata made out of pure silk before, but if it always felt like this…

You could buy one yourself when you were back. A nicer one, a better one than this one.

_Never forget. This is Madara’s house. Uchiha territory. _

_Don’t lose your cool. Don’t lose your sharp mind. _

_Stay focused. _

Careless, you piled the dirty armor, loose shirt and sweaty pants closely by the futon. With a little grunt, you also heeled your sandals off, dropped your dagger right on top, then pushed them a bit closer to the pile.

“And now…” you sighed and turned towards the last door, “Water. Blessed, cool water. After this disaster of a day, I could use some-! UCHIHA!”

It was indeed a bathroom. A small, modest bathroom, with a toilet and a small basin of water, waiting to be used to wash off the sorrows of a day.

However, it was also a _shared_ bathroom. There was a sliding door directly across the small room, open and you could catch the sight of a futon, the blanket already pulled back and ready to cuddle into the soft cushions. And Madara. You wished you could forget the sight of Madara, bend over a small basin, the black mop of spiky hair bound into a high pony tail, chest bare and head turning as soon as you screamed at him, but you couldn’t. The vague silhouette had burned itself into your brain, seared it into your inner eyes with the intensity and heat of one of the Uchiha’s fire jutsu. Quickly, you slammed the door shut, breathing rapidly in and out when the confusing, swirling emotions and hugged yourself. This was-! What an atrocious-! This absolute prick-!

“You may have noticed,” when his deep growl vibrated through the paper wall, you flinched away, arms still slung around yourself (_and the damn thin yukata! Shit, you hadn’t even closed the fucking thing properly!_), “that we share a bathroom.”

“No shit!” you hissed. Just to be safe, you hurdled yourself deeper into the yukata, adjusted the silk and tried desperately to hide your body away. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, someone decided to hold their soul-sucking little toothpick to my throat. I didn’t exactly have the time no occasion to “warn” you.” Sarcasm was dripping off of every syllable.

“That’s not a reason!”

“Listen, Senju.” Another, even deeper growl. Like the growl off one of the big mountain cats, dangerous for even the more experienced shinobi when they were not cautious enough. “I’m tired from carrying your struggling ass for at least a few miles through the forest, I’m exhausted because of your constant arguing and complaining, my back hurts and my head feels like someone put a gigantic clamp over my brain. Either get your shit together and act like the kunoichi who killed dozens of the Uchiha in cold blood or continue to be the blushing, embarrassed virgin you apparently are. Like you haven’t shared the bathroom or bed of neither Hashirama or this damned Tobirama.”

Tears stood in your eyes. This wasn’t true. Not at all. You didn’t share “bathroom or bed” of either of the Senju-brothers. Never had. Sure, there were rumors; rumors which apparently also made their way to the other clans.

“I haven’t.” You heard yourself say. Like a grumpy child, accused of a crime it hadn’t done. The next second, you already scolded yourself for being such a hopeless insecure girl. You shouldn’t give one flying fuck what the other clans thought of you, hell, what _Madara_ thought of you, for the matter. You were a good kunoichi, a very good one. You were strong, just like the damn Uchiha said. You had killed dozens of his brethren on the battlefield. Hell, you made it past the age most shinobi had died or lost some limbs. And here you were, with all your toes and fingers still attached and hands desperately trying to hold the yukata close. Again, you flinched when the sliding door flew open, jerking away from Madara, who stood all menacing and glooming in the doorway. He was still shirtless, eyebrows drawn together in a sharp ‘V’ and hands without their usual gloves. A weapon first, clan leader second, man third. You hated how much your eyes were drawn to his naked skin, hated how much the high pony tail accentuated the face of the _damned _demon, hated that your face felt like it was suddenly set on fire.

“What?” he asked. “What did you say?”

You blinked. “I… haven’t…?”

“What haven’t you?”

If possible, you wanted to be swallowed by the earth. Right now, instantly. Another few shaky seconds in which you tried to find the perfect words, didn’t find them until the few sentence snippets tumbled out of your mouth. “Is that what everyone thinks? That I sleep with Hashirama and Tobirama? Is that what they think of me? That I’m a… A…”

“Well,” he had the audacity to shrug, “you’re always around them. Rose quickly through the ranks too. Talent alone can only get you so far. And as far as we know, your parents are only of low standing in the Senju Clan. One of the many marriages to bind the Uzumaki and Senju together. Of course, questions will come up, especially considering your unusual weapon.”

“I never would-! Why,” you hated how tight your throat was, hated the burning wetness in your eyes, hated the nausea nesting deep down in your stomach, “Why is it that a kunoichi can’t rise through the ranks without anyone thinking that she slept her way upwards? Why is that? Is it so unbelievable that I’m strong enough to stand on my own? But no, I surely spread my legs for my _cousins _who are closer to me than _brothers_!”

“Senju, that wasn’t what I-!”

“Yeah, of course.” The bitter laugh rose out of instinct, sharp and willing the tears away. “Of course, you just assumed. Everyone assumes. Just leave me alone for today, Uchiha. I’ve had enough. I don’t want to hear or say anything from you or anyone anymore. I’m sorry for _disturbing_ you. Please, go on. Wash yourself.” A last bitter chuckle, and you dropped like a stone onto the futon. Curled up like a child, knees drawn to your chest and eyes squeezed shut. “Just… leave me alone.”

For a few more moments, the man just stood there. Stood there and stared at your back, at the silk, at your drawn-up, tense shoulders, at the overall pitiful picture you surely were. Madara was probably all smug grins and attitude, but just when you expected some mocking comments, a deep sigh floated through the room, before his naked feet slapped weakly on the matts. The sliding door was shut and water splashed for a few more moments, before another ‘clack’ of the other door told you that he returned into his own bedroom.

_Finally._ You glanced over your shoulder, just in case of an elaborate maneuver to trick you, but no. The door was firmly closed, the only light shining was the candle in your room. A few more shuffles, then you sat up, wiped with your bare arm over your still stingy nose, and blinked through tear-filled eyes. No more movements.

On light feet, you got up. You had to hurry. Under no circumstance you would make Madara a reason to forgo your personal hygiene. Acting all emotional surely did the trick, even when faking tears always made your throat uncomfortably sore. In one thing at least, Madara was like all men: he couldn’t bear to watch a woman cry, even less watch her try to suppress said cries, snot and tears. One last sniffle, then you slid the bathroom door open, quickly ducked over the small basin with lukewarm water and washed yourself.

Just some cat-like wash, nothing big. Just enough to feel comfortable. You were faster in and out than lightning itself, hurdling yourself deeply underneath the blanket. The candle was still flickering on the drawer, but you didn’t have the heart to kill the small flame. It was a strange feeling, to stare at the candle and knowing it would die eventually, no matter what you did. A few hours, max. Then even the small light would be gone.

You stayed awake the whole night. Watched how the candle burned down, watched how the light faded. When your eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, you watched the moonlight flicker over the matts surrounding the futon, watched how the clouds darkened the sky, watched your surroundings and discovered nothing.

You heard nothing. It was almost like the outside world didn’t exist, like there was nothing else but this bedroom. Not even Madara. Through the paper walls, you should hear something, at least his breathing, but… there was nothing. Only when the rising sun colored the sky into a deep purple, then orange and finally a light spring-blue, you could hear a faint groan from his direction. Shuffles, a sleepy, deep sigh, before the sliding door to the bathroom was carefully slid open.

Your entire body tensed up. With bated breath, you listened to the sounds like your life depended on it (and it did, there was no use to fool yourself in _that _regard). Water splashed around, another deep groan, and then, you your eternal surprise, a little knock on your own sliding door leading into the bathroom.

“Are you awake?”

Should you answer? Your heart pounded awfully loud in your chest, a constant drum in your ears and thumping in your ribcage. According to the sun, it was barely early enough to not call the hour part of nighttime any longer. Maybe, when you were sure Madara was gone for a bit, you could actually get some sleep.

Before you could truly decide, the worst of all happened. You heard how the sliding door opened, just a crack to peek through. Your back was facing the door, blanket still spread all over you, so you could at least try to pretend to be still asleep.

A few more moments, Madara waited, before he slid the door again close. Carefully and foremost, silently, you breathed out. All the tension left your body as you shuffled deeper into the blanket and cushions. Maybe you would even manage to get a few hours of sleep-!

With the force of a wind-jutsu, the sliding door was pushed open. You reacted out of a deeply trained instinct. Blankets were thrown aside, yukata open and revealing your underwear, and one hand reaching over to your clothing to grab your dagger. This was an attack! Outright and straightforward.

Madara stood in the doorway, smirking and fully clothed. Damn bastard. His arms crossed over his chest and hair again in its usual wild, free state, he marched into the room, while your lips curled into a feral snarl.

“Aaah, good. You’re awake.” he said, ignoring your fighting stance completely. He just brushed past you, not one bit worried even when you hissed sharply at him all teeth and anger. “Get up. You will wash yourself, get dressed, eat breakfast with me. Then, we have to do some traditional rites at the shrines, to confirm your status as a bride of the Uchiha. The clan also expects to see you again today, so, you can only work at returning Izuna’s soul around this afternoon.”

“Wait, what?” You scrambled to your feet, one hand holding your weapon, the other desperately trying to hold together the flimsy edges of the light and now wrinkled yukata. “Traditional rites? Are you crazy? I can’t do any rites! Have you forgotten-!”

“That you’re not my real bride?” Madara raised exactly one eyebrow. “No, I haven’t forgotten. And you seem to think that this situation is irreversible.”

“Isn’t it? I mean,” you nodded at the window, “all of them out there think I am your bride to be and soon-to-be head of the Uchiha.”

He sighed; expression set in a tired mask of the same understanding small children got to see when an adult explained why the sky was blue. “You have not an inkling of a gist, don’t you? Fine, what else can I expect from a Senju, uncivilized and barbaric. Political marriages? Really?”

“What’s there to say against political marriage?”

Again, Madara snorted, this time in badly hidden disgust. “A soulless bond between two people who probably end up resenting each other more than supporting each other. Despicable.”

“It binds two clans together. It’s a logical measure to ensure two clans stay support each other in times of war and bloodshed. Don’t you do that for the Uchiha too?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” he growled and finally stopped to glare at you, “but the Uchiha surely have more class than to force two people together who aren’t willing.”

Okay, that was it. You threw your hands into the air, not caring anymore about the rims of the yukata falling open and revealing your dirty, sweaty underwear. “The hypocrisy! Do you listen to yourself? How is bridal kidnapping any different from a political marriage?”

“The bridal kidnapping is usually done under… different circumstances.”

“What “different” circumstances?” You echoed back, mocking and hissing at the same time. “There are no different circumstances, just admit it!”

You knew you made a mistake when Madara’s black eyes changed from a deep, bottomless black to a sheer, bloody red. Instantly, you looked away, but it was too late. His anger already filled the room like miasma, curling around your legs and filling your lungs, choking you. “Fucking Senju’s,” he spat, “of course, you would never understand! There’s no need to explain it to you.”

“Why not?” you hissed back, despite your frozen limbs and the tremble in your hands.

“Your opinion on us is already settled. There’s nothing to change, nothing to argue about. You want us to be the wild, uncivilized barbarians, so anything we do will reflect that to you.” Madara breathed in, and his anger seemed to only focus instead of fade away. “We could eat from the finest porcelain in the entire continent and you would just see how unrefined we are in comparison to the cutlery. No matter what I could prove to you, deep down, we will always be your enemies.”

Before you could agree to that statement, Madara’s anger went out like a weak light swallowed by darkness. The sudden change was so abrupt and instantly that you could only stand and stare at him, while the Uchiha avoided to look into your general direction. Like the mere sight disgusted him. “Get dressed. Appropriate clothes are in the other room. I expect you to show up, properly washed and dressed in twenty minutes, in the dining hall downstairs.”

And without another word, he left the room.

That was… strange. Slowly and always with the door in your vision, you stripped the yukata and underwear off, only to slip into the small, shared bathroom and wash yourself. This time, the water was warm as you splashed it into your face and tired eyes, let it run over your neck and shoulders. This evening, you swore to yourself, you would get a bath and if you had to kill Madara for it, so be it.

Right after that rite he apparently held in high regards. A snort escaped you, harsh and sharp, creating waves in the bowl of water. The earlier discussion just was ridiculous! Of course, bridal kidnapping and political marriage were essentially on the same page. Even worse, the kidnapping was only for the benefit of one clan, while a political, strategical bond between two clans _obviously_ benefitted both parties.

_How can he even say with a straight face that kidnapping a bride is better than an arranged marriage between two willing parties?_

You rolled your eyes. Probably, it was just some strange deranged sense of superiority he wanted to hold over you. With quick, sharp motions, you scrubbed over your skin until it turned an almost unpleasant red. Only then, you left the bathroom, strutting right into the room where Madara said your clothes would wait.

You honestly didn’t know what you expected. Surely not a pile of clothing, neatly folded and arranged on the drawer, all of them beautiful, all of them lavish, all of them different from each other and obviously fitted to be worn by a soon-to-be bride… However, as you unfolded each and every single item, the Uchiha crest seemed to mock you with its colors and shape. The yukata, all light and fitting to be worn in the sun and around the house. The kimono, embroidered with an otherwise beautiful scenery of a moonlight-flooded field. The light pants, the light shirt, all in dark colors. Even the underwear, fucking god damnit!

For a very short moment, you considered acting like a total child. You thought about getting back into your dirty and reeking clothing, about crawling back underneath the blankets and just letting Madara wait. What else could he do than snarl and hiss at you like a feral cat?

Then, you sense of responsibility, dignity and most importantly, _pride_ kicked in. Sure, you didn’t like it. Sure, you had to bend and double over to make sure your cover wouldn’t slip. But Hashirama gave you an order, a mission if you so will, and a mission was more important than such petty feelings as disgust and shame.

You wouldn’t say it was easy to cover your body with the colors of the Uchiha. Never in your life, you would’ve believed for that to ever happen, and if that had to happen, than in an elaborate plan to fool some other clan. Never like this. _Never_ like this, locked up in the Uchiha compound and forced to play Madara’s bride. As a last sign of stubbornness, you clipped your dagger back to your hip. The weapon was in plan sight, a sign for everyone else that you weren’t completely subdued and under the thumb of this tyrant.

Minutes later, you stormed down the stairs and right into the arms of your captor.

“You clean up nicely,” he remarked, his eyes wandering over one of the finer and more decorated yukata and your combed hair, “At least that.”

Again, your face turned into a deep frown. “Do you want to say that usually, I don’t clean up nicely?”

“It’s always hard to say in that armor of yours.”

Your first instinct was to lash out. However, you clung to the last bits of your obedience to Hashirama, dedication to the mission and pride as a shinobi by the skin of your teeth and smiled full of barely restrained rage at him. “Thank god. The armor fulfils its purpose. Fending off blows and protecting me from perverts who would leer at me over the corpse of one of my cousins they just killed.” Before Madara could blow up on you again, you brushed past him, right into the hallway and spotted a slightly open door. Still not waiting for him to catch up, you rushed into the room, head held high and the soft fabric fluttering behind you like the wings of a swan.

The dining hall. A low table stood in the middle of the room, pillows dispersed around it and plates, bowls and chopsticks already prepared. _A set for two,_ you noted. So, either Madara had done this or one of the lackeys he surely had. Didn’t matter in the end though. The mission, you reminded yourself in the same heartbeat as your captor followed. The goddamn mission was of utmost importance, and nothing else.

Madara brushed past you, the habitual frown on his face deepened. “Why don’t you take a seat,” he grumbled and gestured to the second set of plates when he dropped right onto his own pillow, “When you’re already at it.”

“Grumpy I don’t ask for your permission for every step along the way or what?” Your mouth started to water when the delicious smell of steamed rice, grilled fish and vegetables filled your nose, together with a broth which only seemed to enhance the overall experience. On cue, your stomach growled too. Pretty loudly on top of that.

_Embarrassing. _

_Well, I would like to dig in, but…?_

The tatami mats gave slightly away beneath your feet as you walked over and kneeled down. “How much poison did you put in there?” you asked as you leaned over the table and inspected the grilled fish closer. “Tell me now. I will find out sooner or later.”

“No poison.” He didn’t even look at you. Just started to load a bit of rice into his bowl, settled again onto the table, took his place and took one of the grilled fish from right under your nose. Suddenly, just when you leaned back onto your heels, his dark eyes flashed to you, intense and dark. You froze on the spot, even your breath stopped completely, while your heart pounded louder and louder in your chest, in your throat.

_Fuck! I looked directly into his eyes!_

Since you arrived, you had avoided his eyes. It was a battle-born instinct, made to protect yourself from the deep and unbreakable illusions the Uchiha were able to cast on their victims. The terrible screams of horror and unimaginable pain of one of the Senju captured in these still haunted your nightmare. In the end, he never woke up. Just his screams echoed through the compound, until they finally, finally fell silent forever.

Now, you had done it. Like a rabbit was hypnotized by a snake, you stared into his eyes, absent-mindedly noted that his dark eyes were quite beautiful to look at, the iris just a shade brighter than the pupil-!

“Done staring?” Madara broke the contact. Looking down, he tore apart his grilled fish and started to pick one particular piece. He raised it to his mouth, noticed you were still staring. At that, a little grin pulled at his mouth, just a little softening of his entire face. “Or did I mesmerize you?”

Before you could do more than blink at the sudden change in tone and atmosphere, he was already nibbling at his fish. A fascinating sight, truly. Your heart seemed again to jump into your throat but now out of an entirely different reason than the fear of a gen-jutsu overtaking your mind and body. Damn hormones. Damned, stupid hormones.

“I pushed back the rites.”

That broke the little spell (not a gen-jutsu, you could rule that possibility out after a quick check of chakra around you) over you. “What?” you echoed.

“I didn’t think you were deaf. Just for you, Senju: I. Pushed. Back. The. Rites.” Every single syllable was pronounced, strained, but not a single muscle in his body was tense when he took another bite of his fish. “You were against them. And unlike the villains you paint us to be, my clan is still all about the consent of both parties. This should also be beneficial for Izuna’s recovery. You can get started right after breakfast.”

‘Dumbfounded’ wasn’t a word you would use in the situation right there. ‘Surprised’ was also quickly ruled out. Madara pushed back the rites because you weren’t _consenting_ to them? Did you hear that right? You shook your head. No, that was surely a gen-jutsu. An elaborate one.

“Aren’t they important?” you asked, while your food lost probably even the last bits of its heat, “For the clan? To, I don’t know, properly install me as the matriarch or something?”

He had the audacity to snort into his rice. “Oh no. That’s not… No. You, matriarch? After not even 24 hours? That would be sheer insanity.”

“Then what is this bridal kidnapping about anyway? Why all this “consent is important”, when none of this is anywhere near a sane definition of “consent”?”

Instead of bristling his hair like a wounded wolf (like you expected), Madara sighed lowly, before he reached up to massage his temples with quick, precise motions. “Why are you asking?”

“I want to understand this,” you answered, while your stomach growled and wanted you to quit the asking and start digging in, “and I mean, all of this. To survive and return to _my_ clan and return to hate you without any reservations.”

For several tense moments, you waited. Waited for your captor to say something, to react to your words in some kind of way. Madara didn’t, though. With the calmness of a mountain river, he picked up another piece of grilled fish, dumped it into the broth and turned it over and over with his chopsticks. Then, when he cushioned the fish with a little bed of rice on his plate, he started to speak, in a low hushed voice which send little showers of shivers down your spine. “Fine. It is indeed beneficial for you to know about this particular part of our traditions.”

“Yeah.”

“Only if you eat while I explain. As stated, without the rites, you have the whole day to treat Izuna.” A sharp nod towards your untouched plates, warning and order all the same. “You will need strength and I won’t feed you.”

He was right. You didn’t have to like that fact, but he was right. Growling some unnamed curses out at which your mother would’ve wrinkled her nose, you finally picked up your chopsticks and picked out your own frilled fish, while Madara watched you with the intensity of a hawk who had set its eyes on its prey. Only when you hesitantly sniffed at the fish and deemed it safe to eat, he continued.

“Usually, we don’t kidnap our brides out of the blue. It’s one of the last steps in a long, long process of courting. It takes years to get to the stage of stealing,” his hands flew up, gestured, “our bride, with her consent. The Uchiha shows with their skills as shinobi, their strength and commitment, but also their willingness to take a step back if their partner doesn’t agree. That hasn’t happened before, of course.”

“I’m shocked.”

Thankfully, Madara jumped at your tease, his mouth curling in a sneer full of frustration and hot-blooded anger. “Quit your bullshit! Our traditions are still important to us, not like the Senju who have abandoned theirs to make way for artificial marriages without an inkling of emotions behind them! We court, we compliment, we make sure the other party is comfortable with our advances and we proceed with utmost caution along the way! Using these traditions and customs to smuggle _you_,” his sneer sharpened as his eyes wandered up and down your body, “into his compound is against everything they stand for! I wouldn’t even have considered this if it wasn’t for Izuna!”

In this very moment, you had an epiphany. For the very first time, you actually thought about Madara’s unwillingness and his devotion to his brother which overcame said unwillingness. His quick decision to overthrow his deeply engraved and valued traditions to save his brother, to reach his hand out for help and hoping he wouldn’t get disappointed or even worse, sent away with nothing but laughter in his back. _He _must’ve come to Hashirama, contacted him somehow to talk with you, so you could fix what you caused.

It took exceptional greatness to come to his enemy and hope for the better when he could only expect the worst.

Even when your tongue curled in disgust at the mere thought, you knew what you had to do. Under his fiery look, you swallowed the bite of fish, breathed in and lowered your head, despite all of your trained and untrained instincts screaming at you to run.

“I must apologize,” you heard yourself say – _the good words, the better words than the mighty voice in your head which threw more mocking insults at the Uchiha_ – “I wasn’t aware of the importance of your rites. Apparently, I was also too hasty in my judgement over them when I knew nothing. Forgive me.”

To be honest, you were surprised by your own demure apology. Your pride edged right behind your teeth, to raise your head; raise your head and spit more fire and rage at him. However, bickering with Madara wouldn’t get you anywhere. It would only temporarily relieve some of the tension in your chest, ease some of the pressure resting on your shoulders. The mission had to be your highest priority, and no matter how little you liked it, at some point you had to act like you were actually old enough to carry out this mission. With a sense of dignity and sense of duty. Madara was your contact in the Uchiha Clan. The only one you could halfway trust in this mess.

You were also pretty sure your apology surprised Madara even more than you had surprised yourself. When you raised your head, a single strand of your hair falling into your vision, Madara’s eyebrows had wandered right up into his hairline and his chopsticks floated between his bowl of rice and his slightly open mouth.

“Well,” you brushed your hair back into place, “I think that’s it. Thank you for pushing back the rites. I also believe we can somehow form a pact to get this done as quickly as possible to get out of each other’s hear as soon as possible.”

“…Sure.”

“Alright.” With a shake of your wrists, you slipped back the wide sleeves of your yukata and started to eat. Finally, you could fill your stomach, what seemed like a blessing in itself. The rice was still warm when you dug in, the broth was just as delicious as it smelled and the grilled fish was a nice addition to everything else. Before you knew it, your bowl and plate were half empty, and you had to remind yourself that the possibility that your food had been poisoned was still on the table.

Literally.

You looked up from your meal when a strange feeling of being watched creeped down your spine. Indeed, Madara was obviously staring and not even trying to hide it when you caught him.

“What?” you hissed around a mouth full of fish. “Quit staring if you have nothing else to do.”

“I was just surprised,” and really, he picked up his chopsticks again, “to hear you utter such a sincere apology.”

“Don’t get used to it, that was my first and last time I will ever apologize to anyone of your blood.”

“It was also my last time making amends for anyone of _your_ blood,” Madara countered, “because that will never happen again, do you understand?”

“Damned Uchiha.”

“Fucking Senju.”

For the first time though, your curse missed its usual bite and hatred. And you couldn’t help to notice that his comeback was also missing something essential, the same kind of undertone you had missed in your insult. Wordlessly, you came to an understanding and silent compromise for the upcoming days and even weeks. You would try to help his brother; he would keep the clan of your backs.

Easy enough.

If not for…

This soft voice. His careful explanations. The throaty rasp, the timbre, the sheer confidence. That Madara was dangerous in a sense you never even considered. Your heart had again jumped into your throat, sweat had assembled in your palms and the strange fluttery feeling of your heart and lungs had returned, stronger than ever before. Even back then, when you first met Madara and killed two of his clansmen, you already realized that he had too big of an effect over you. Like a black curse, invading your soul and body when it shouldn’t, called by his unholy eyes and appearance.

This… this _attraction_ shouldn’t exist. You shouldn’t be affected by it. You should shrug it off like a duck’s coat repelled water, should hate and defy him, and yet…

Yet, you didn’t.

_This will be a challenge,_ you thought to as you quietly finished your breakfast, not daring to look anymore at Madara or anywhere near him, _a true challenge to see if I can stay loyal to my clan and blood. _

Deep, deep down though, an unwelcomed voice whispered. Whispered about hidden desires you had shoved aside to become a good shinobi, ruthless with your kills and even more ruthless in your rejection of other, weaker partners. _He is strong. He is capable. He’s the embodiment of a clan leader, born to lead and fight._

_Not only that. Even though he’s a grumpy asshole most of the time, I have to admit he looks kinda… cute. Especially when he pouts. I _want_ to ruffle his feathers more. I _want_ to see him angry and snarling. He loses his composure and becomes like one of the small dogs the Inuzuka sell to the lords and ladies. A fluffy, adorable ball of anger. _

_Alone my thoughts are already betrayal of my clan. _

For a split second, Hashirama came to your mind. Hashirama and his crazy plan to introduce a long-lasting alliance to the shinobi world, where enemies were able to become friends and broke through the never-ending cycle of hate and bloodshed. But this was only wishful dreaming. Reality was different, crueler, not as easy as Hashirama painted it to be.

Peace between the Senju and the Uchiha? That would never happen.

“Are you finished with your meal?” Madara’s voice broke through the fog in your head. You looked up, chin held high and nodded after a few more seconds of tense silence.

“Good. Then, follow me.”

Without looking left or right or even caring about the dirty plates, the Uchiha stood up and marched into the hallway. You had trouble keeping up, your bare feet slapping weakly on the mats and wood. In the hallway, you had to look left and right, only to watch the last bits of Madara’s unruly hairstyle vanish in a room to your left, at the far end of the hallway. A little bit slower, you followed after him and peeked carefully into the dimly lit room.

Only a few candles burned. The small lights were all centered around a futon in the middle of the bare room, the curtains drawn close and darkness reigned. In the shadows, you nearly overlooked Madara, who was hidden behind his pitch-black cloud of wild hair, his clothes only a few shades off.

“Come in,” his hoarse whisper startled you, cutting through the silence like thunder cut through rain, “come in and see what you have done to my brother.”

An accusation. Of course. Only little shame reared its head at his tone. You deserved that one. Just as carefully as you had peaked inside, you settled a single foot into the room. The stuffy atmosphere resembled a wake for a beloved family member, and maybe it already was.

Maybe, you were too late already.

You didn’t belong here. Still, you inched closer, kneeled down beside Madara at the side of the futon. In the cushions, you could barely spot the blurry face of Izuna. Younger than you, painfully young, when you really thought about it. His matted, black hair spread over the white linen of the pillow, the blanket tugged up to his chest, arms crossed over his stomach. He didn’t even appear to be asleep. When you leaned closer, even in the dim flickering of the candles, you could spot the wax-like state of his skin.

You would recognize that state everywhere. It was the skin of a dead person, despite the fact that his chest was still slowly rising and falling. There was no life here, just the empty shell of a once alive person.

Your mouth was already open to tell Madara it was hopeless. There was nothing to safe here, nothing to bring back. Izuna was dead, and the sooner he accepted that and moved on, the sooner you could end this farce. Preferably today. Your mouth was already open to tell the man that, but when you turned your head and encountered the intense and fierce _plead _in his eyes, the absolute and desperate _hope _for a miracle, you didn’t have the heart to tell him the sad truth.

“I will try,” you whispered instead, “I will try whatever is in the range of my abilities. Though, I can’t promise you anything. I simply can’t. This was never tried before.”

“I don’t care.” Madara’s hand reached out and calloused fingertips slid over Izuna’s folded hands. “Try it. Try your best.”

_Or your worst_, the dark voice in the depth of your mind whispered, _when he’s dead, you can also go. Nothing to safe there anymore. _

No. Quickly, you squashed the dark urge to slay a defenseless person on their deathbed. You could nearly hear Hashirama whining into your ear over these morbid thoughts, whining about helping his friend and not killing his younger brother when there was so much hanging onto your active try to safe Izuna’s soul.

“Do you really want to stay?” you asked. Already, your hands were reaching to your dagger to unsheathe it. “I guess it will involve a lot of experimenting and mumbling on my part.”

Madara’s grip on Izuna’s unresponsive hand tightened. “I will stay for as long as I want.”

_Suit yourself. Stubborn Uchihas. _

Without another word, you settled into a more comfortable position on the mats. The yukata billowed around you, brushed against the flank of the man beside you, only to fall back against your side. The wide sleeves needed to be bound to your arms, rolled up and out of the way of your hands.

“I have,” you whispered, “an inkling of an idea what I have to do. Legend says all souls the dagger takes are saved inside the metal. Cursed to reside inside it forever. If Izuna’s soul is really tied to it, then I should be able to safely retract it. The problem is, how should I search for it and how do I get him to return into his own body? There are hundreds of taken souls inside if the legend is true and returning a soul was never the intention of this weapon.”

“_Just try it_.” His sharp hiss shut your mouth that your teeth clicked audibly in the silence. “I don’t care how much it takes. I don’t care if it was never tried before. Do what you have to do, try out whatever you want to try to bring my _brother _back. I don’t care about anything else.”

Again. Madara didn’t care about the position of a clan leader. He cared about the wellbeing of his brother (even when it was probably hopeless), didn’t care about his status but about the tiny sliver of a chance for his little brother to recover. Only a totally heartless person would reject him in this state, raw and open like a freshly opened wound. And you weren’t that heartless.

On the inside, you were already preparing the speech you had to give Madara sooner or later, that Izuna wasn’t to be saved any longer, but nevertheless, you started inspect the dagger and tried to apply your thin knowledge about seals and the legend of your family heirloom to the current situation.

~ X ~

Your specialties were recon, battle, the occasional trap through seals. But nothing of this scale, nothing of this importance and weight. Research and discovery, trying new things outside of the conventional box out were more of Tobirama’s thing. He would be able to figure things out in no time, probably just look at the dagger, look at Izuna, only to roll his eyes and fix this. Crisis averted, everyone could go home.

You weren’t that smart or intelligent. Sure, you had listened to some of Tobirama’s ramblings about the function of seals, about their possibilities and all that kind of stuff, but you understood only maybe half of it, not to talk about actually using these dangerous crumpets of knowledge to bring back a theoretically captured soul.

And the concept of a soul was already so hard to grasp that only a small number of scientists and researchers actively sought out methods to go into the darkest depths of a person. The Yamanaka-Clan was notorious for their techniques to interrogate people and search for information, and at the moment, you wished for one of their highest elders to be here to assist you. You had no idea what you were doing or were supposed to do, for fuck’s sake!

Well, nothing like learning as you go, right?

Over the day, you made a list. A list of things to do, how to possibly do them for maximum success and to end this farce before it could go too far.

  1. Try to locate Izuna’s soul inside the dagger
  2. Drag the damned soul out
  3. Shove that effin soul back where it belongs
  4. Leave Madara and his whole cursed clan behind as fast as I can

So far, so good. Unfortunately, as established, the first step was probably the biggest hurdle as you had no idea what to do and how to do it.

A few minutes of empty staring at your weapon, before you decided that enough was enough.

“Do you have a library?”

Madara looked up, forehead wrinkled in a frown at your whisper, which was apparently still to disrespectful for his liking. “Of course.”

“Where is it?”

“Across the hallway.” With that, the topic was apparently off the table for him. He turned to his brother, holding onto his hand with an intensity which almost scared you. You couldn’t leave the room quickly enough to escape. Run away from this dense and stifling air.

Or run away in general?

You stepped into the empty hallway. One more glance over your shoulder, before the door slid close. It would be so easy. So easy to just take flight, run away, open the main entrance and be gone before Madara would have a chance to even react.

Only after a few seconds of longing, intense staring at the promised freedom, you took maybe the hardest steps of your life right across the hallway, and wrenched your fingers into the small opening between door and doorframe.

“Good choice not to run.”

Fucking Uchiha. This time you meant it. You didn’t even turn around, just growled wordlessly at the world and especially at him, before entering the library. As a last gesture, you slammed the door shut, but not even the loud slam of wood against wood would satisfy you more than yesterday’s little tryst.

Holding your dagger to Madara’s neck had been the ultimate power trip. Seeing him tense up, at your mercy, completely defenseless and so close to the end of his life it probably flashed past him in the blink of one of his cursed eyes. So close… And yet so far. Only stopped by the command Hashirama had given you, by the dignity of a shinobi and the pride you held in yourself.

_There was something else stopping me. I shouldn’t lie to myself like this._

_Something else? I have no idea. What was there?_

_What IS there? I don’t want anything there! I don’t want to feel anything for-!_

You paused, eyes closed and trying to make out what was happening through the storm inside your mind. The scent of old books, scrolls and dried ink filled the room, but not even that familiar scent couldn’t do anything to calm the confusion inside your mind. No, “feeling” something for Madara other than loathing him for forcing you into this situation would be too far. It was more like… Like… A hint of something you could feel, if you decided to.

The chance for a possibility. Or something like that.

Shaking your head, you opened your eyes and looked around the little library, ready to be disgusted by the poor taste of books the Uchiha obviously had to have, or even disturbed by the bad state the books were in. Neither was the case. At first glance, the library was spacious, flooded by natural sunlight due to the wide open door to the backyard and the curtains in front of the windows pulled aside, the books seemed in perfect condition, and when you inspected a random shelf for different scrolls for fire jutsu, you noted that they were meticulously sorted. First alphabetically, then by difficulty level, and finally by the date the jutsu was officially recorded for the first time. In comparison to Tobirama’s extremely difficult system which only he seemed to know fully, this was blissful simplicity. If the rest of the library was just as organized, then you would have a miraculous time just wandering through the small room, picking here and there a book for your own enjoyment and relay outside in the green, artistically natural garden with the koi pond whose edges you could just _barely_ spot from your position.

All of that had to wait, though. Now, you had to find some texts and scrolls on the soul of a human being, on seals and foremost soul seals, on seals of the Uzumaki and how to unbind them or to break them just enough to release a single soul.

Hard work, but necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thanks to Chisie for proofreading! :D


	3. Acquintances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The daily life in the Uchiha Clan isn't too bad, especially when the prospect of teasing Madara is on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for this longer-than-planned request ;) I hope this chapter cements a bit further the MCs and Madara's developting bond and their dynamic. Let me know what you guys think! :D

You hadn’t expected the life inside the Uchiha clan to be so… simple. You _had _expected more of Madara ordering and pushing you around for his own amusement. But no, the routine you followed while living there was as normal as it could be: In the morning, you would wake up when the sun rose; mostly when Madara slammed the door of his part of the bathroom shut. Following would be a silent breakfast, sometimes interrupted by your captor telling you that there was an important event inside the clan and that he wouldn’t be inside the house today. Sometimes, Madara announced that he would stay, what you would mostly counter with a snort and more food shoveled into your mouth. Next, you would go into the small library, where you had built a little nest of useful scrolls, half-written theories, scratched out, half-finished seals and books strewn around the room, the pages secured by anything you could get into your fingers which was heavier than the pages. Research was slow and crucial, just like you expected. The first few days, you could only read and didn’t bother to test out any seals, just because you lacked fundamental knowledge to decipher and understand the more complicated books and scrolls. Hard, punishing work; slaving away over complicated scrolls and long-winded texts. Gods, you wished you could just fight these darn scrolls into submission to draw the fucking seals themselves!

The whole time, you wished Tobirama could be here with you. He would probably be able to draw a complex seal in under ten minutes, and would make it look so easy you would hate it. Research and theoretical work weren’t your methods. You were good in head-on fights, in battle strategies, hell, even simple traps weren’t out of your league. But this? This was much more of Tobirama’s forte than it would be ever yours. Nevertheless, you fought your way through the long, exhaustingly complicated worded scrolls and the many, many overly incarnate descriptions of seals and hieroglyphs needed to create an even bigger, more complicated seals.

While you worked away in the library, Madara would usually be by Izuna’s side and caring for him, or he would sit on the parchment on the outside of the library; his long spiky mop of hair spread out like a carpet around him. Still like a gargoyle; guarding you, mostly with a cup of green tea in his hands and the cursed eyes set onto the koi pond. He wouldn’t talk to you on the days he sat with you and you liked it that way. Just his presence seemed to burn your very patience to the ground—unnerving, unsettling and annoying you to no end.

Granted, he didn’t show one bit that he was bothered by _your _presence in _his _home. His only worry was his comatose brother. Just like the clan worried about Izuna more than anything. Day by day, there were presents left on the doorstep. Day by day, there would be children knocking on the door and asking about “Izuna-nii-chan” and his state. Day by day, Madara would invite them into the garden and watched them play, sitting on the porch and allowing you to watch him. Him, how he smiled into his cup of tea when one of the ambitious children took their plays too far and fell into the koi pond. How Madara would allow a little Uchiha-girl to crawl into his lap and braid his long, luscious hair. How he would share the several sweet treats with them when they came to him, all dirty and sweaty and with wide, toothy grins on their small faces.

You couldn’t help but notice how gentle and caring Madara was with the children. He was young enough to feel too high and mighty in his standing to speak with them; yet, he seemed to enjoy the interactions with the youngest, like an old grumpy bear secretly enjoying the small cubs climbing all over him.

He was showing a side of the Uchiha-Clan you never wanted to see. You didn’t need to know the children which would soon grow up to be young shinobi. You didn’t need to know their smiles; didn’t need to know how they looked like when they were crying, noses drooling snot and their eyes reddened with their sadness. You didn’t want to know. It would make fighting them in the near future only harder.

The day had come to Madara inviting the brats into the garden and the moment had to dawn when he left for a few minutes to do whatever he needed to do. You tried to ignore the loud cries and laughter while sitting again in your nest of scrolls and books, tried to ignore them while gritting your teeth, fingers clawing into the pen you wielded more like a kunai than a delicate tool.

Silent steps made you jerk your head up, eyes flitting around and settling onto the small silhouette in the door leading onto the porch.

“Where’s Madara-nii-chan?” A thin voice asked. A girl, her typically black hair drawn into a long braid which only stopped at her knees. Her big dark eyes were set on you, asking herself probably what this crazed woman was doing on such a beautiful day full of warm sunshine and lazy clouds drifting across the blue sky.

“I don’t know,” you answered. “He will come back though. He always does.”

The girl didn’t notice the hint of bitterness in your voice. Maybe, she was too young to understand completely what was going on. Without a hint of fear, she took a little step forward. One of her hands was curled around the edge of the door, the other rose to cover her little mouth. Another step forward; wary and insecure.

Then: “Are you Madara-nii-chan’s wife?”

You had to bite your tongue. Carefully, you dropped the pen onto the cluttered desk, wiped some strands out of your face, and turned properly into her direction. For the clan, for your own protection, you had to play the part of a fiancée well enough to fool every—and anyone, even when it was a mere child. “Yes, I am.”

“My mum said you weren’t really his wife yet.”

“That’s also right.”

“Why?”

“I still have to really think about us,” your tongue tasted ashen as you merely imagined Madara and yourself in _that_ special “us”, “and before I fully commit myself to Madara and the Uchiha-Clan,” _stop yourself from puking, just hold it back, _“I want to give my future husband the gift of correcting my mistake and help Izuna to wake up.”

Her eyes grew even wider. “You want to help Izuna-nii-chan? Really?”

“Really-really.”

Another step closer, just a few more meters. “He’s sleeping for a long time now. Madara-nii-chan is really sad. He doesn’t laugh as much anymore.” And another step, nearly in your range. You wanted to stand up and run away from this terribly _trusting _child, the future enemy, a shinobi in the making. But her wide innocent eyes were fixated on you, hope shining in the dark irises, and you couldn’t move a muscle. Glued into place, while the girl made a last step and was now close enough to reach out a single chubby hand, grabbing into the hem of your yukata.

“I don’t want Madara-nii-chan to be sad,” she told you with the earnest worry of a child talking about the truly important things in life, “and I want Izuna-nii-chan to wake up, too. He always played with us and he allowed me to braid flowers into his hair.” Her eyes flittered up to your own hair, assessing it with curiosity. “Can I braid your hair? Can I braid flowers into it?”

Your hair was a mess, you knew. Not washed for two days, merely combed with a few hasty strokes, bound in a messy pony tail. Not at all perfect conditions to braid it. Not at all presentable. More importantly, leaving it up to an Uchiha-devil to comb her fingers through your hair?

Just in the moment you wanted to decline, to harshly push her away and return to your task at hand, the little girl seemed to sense your decline. Panic welled up inside your chest as you watched how her eyes suddenly became misty, sparkling in unshed tears.

“t’s fine,” she mumbled, _whimpered_, “It-It’s fine.”

It was totally not fine. She was so close to crying, so close to loudly cry out—!

Gods, if Madara would find you with a crying child in his care, you were dead meat. No way you could risk being thrown out or killed now, not when you were already knee-deep in this damned research!

So, you quickly made a decision. Before the first tear could fall, you moved out of your chair and kneeled back onto the ground, right in front of the girl. The tatami mats beneath your knees crinkled weakly as you shifted your weight, all the while the girl watched your motions with wide-eyed fascination. Her hands were folded in front of her face, hiding her little mouth from view. Probably also to hide the tremble of her lips, the telltale sign of her tears. A first hint someone had made the effort to teach her about one of the most important rules of the shinobi which was also probably one of the most ignored. No, almost impossible to follow.

Don’t show your emotions. Don’t have emotions. Be a tool; be a weapon; be nothing else but that.

“You can braid my hair,” you said with a little smile, your voice a little tight but easily forgotten, “in fact, I am in dire need of some braiding. You see, it always falls into my eyes and I can’t read any of the scrolls in peace. Would you be so kind as to help me out?”

Almost immediately, the unshed tears dried up, her face brightened and the small hands fell away from her mouth, only to let out a little squeal of unbridled joy and excitement. Quicker than you thought, her hands combed through your hair, pulling out the previous tie and letting the thin silk flutter to the ground without a care.

“Thank you, (Y/N)-san!” Her toothy smile split her face in half. “I will make it the best braid I can do, even prettier than Madara-nii-chan’s hair!”

“Well, then I’m definitely looking forward to it. What’s your name by the way?”

“Aimi.”

“A beautiful name.”

And that was how Madara found you. Sitting on the ground, the small girl standing by your back and playing with your hair, humming a little happy melody and carefully organizing the battlefield of her next mission, surrounded by the mess of a library you created. He entered through the same door he left and abruptly stopped while he certainly tried to take in the strangely peaceful picture.

“What’s going on here?” Instead of threatening, Madara sounded mildly surprised; even downright shocked. Fast steps in your back, the soft giggle of the girl, then Madara entered your vision, fire burning in his eyes. No hint of red though. In his light yukata, the feet bare and the hair indeed in a thick braid, he was the epitome of a relaxed man chilling on his porch during the hot summer. In total difference to his aura. Raging and exploding around him like fireworks, worried and shocked and wondering. Wondering if you were up to something, wondering if you would—!

“Aimi is just braiding my hair, obviously,” you scolded him, a little warning to be careful hidden between the words, “and my braid will be prettier than yours. ‘Cause _I_ accept flowers.” Aimi’s little giggle turned your grin into a true mock. All confidence, all quiet assurance that these motions of the girl were accepted and welcomed. You waved vaguely in his direction, not even bothering to keep your eyes open as you enjoyed the careful tugs of small hands in your back.

To say his expression grew even more distressed from the casual display of a shared bond would be an understatement. He knew something had happened, didn’t trust the change in atmosphere, didn’t trust the change you went through. You made clear that every interaction with the clan would be too much. Too huge of a risk. And here you sat, the hands of a clan-child in your hair and eyes closed. As relaxed as one could be.

Of course, any halfway intelligent shinobi would be suspicious.

Madara threw a last glance at you, before turning back to the porch. That didn’t stop him though, from throwing more glances over his shoulder as he walked away, while you could watch through your lashes how Madara settled again into his usual spot.

He was… upset. Upset that he didn’t know what was going on and why you made that decision to allow Aimi close. You were a mystery for him, just like he was a mystery to you. Finally, something you could use against him. Many, many unusual decisions. Many, many surprises. Just for Madara.

The soft smile on your face grew a tad bit wider at the realization how exactly you could play with him.

~ X ~

When Madara finally climbed down the stairs, you hastily grabbed your chopsticks and started nibbling at the grilled eggplant you found in the wide garden. To your surprise, the Uchiha’s seemed to be at least capable to grow vegetables and not destroy everything they saw the moment they laid their eyes on it. With the ears of a wolf, you listened to the heavy steps you learned to connect to Madara. They came closer and closer, stopped for a second in front of the door, then he pulled the door open with the force of a wind-jutsu.

“Good morning.” You chirped, sitting cross-legged in your usual place at the low table. “Rise and shine, you sleepyhead!”

Madara’s eyes narrowed. “Good… morning.”

“I made breakfast!” You gestured over the table, all decked in and the food spread out in containers which would conserve the heat for as long as possible. Hell, you sneaked down at three in the morning just because Madara was such a freak that he started to wake up around five for some good morning-training.

You did that too when you were home at the Senju-compound, but that wasn’t the point!

It had taken you some time to work around in the kitchen you weren’t familiar with. All the different pots and pans and cutlery, the storage room and whatnot, everything you needed for a good breakfast you had to find on your own. Then decking the table, hell, even folding some nice-looking napkins into swans for the little bit of extra flair.

All of that struggle, for this moment, to see Madara confused and frustrated and annoyed because he had no idea you only cooked breakfast to fuck with his mind. To confuse the hell out of him just as much as he confused the hell out of you by being all nice and gentle to the children.

“What is this?” His growl vibrated through the air, through the entire room it seemed. His heavy steps came closer, only to stop right by your side. “What are you playing here?”

You took a few more bites of rice, calmly chewing while his dark eyes burned into the side of your face. Only after a few more deliberate seconds, you looked up from your bowl. The pure essence of innocence, eyes almost comically wide and blinking in painfully visible confusion when you met Madara’s vicious glare. “I think it’s clear what this is,” you gestured vaguely over the table, “You know the time of the day, there is food on the table, everything is decked in. I don’t understand your confusion, Uchiha.”

“Stop playing coy and tell me what you planned!”

“Breakfast, even though you’re being a massive dick about it.” With a shrug, you turned again for another nibble at the eggplant, as coy as Madara described and maybe a tenfold more satisfied than he could ever imagine. “Eat it or not. I don’t care, but leave me the hell out of your morning grumpiness. And stay away from me. Your morning breath is especially disgusting today.”

On the inside, you grinned full of glee and mischief at him. On the outside, you were as cold as a winter storm, just as sharp and icy as the small shards of broken snowflakes hitting any unprotected skin, while you continued to eat in controlled bites. Thank god for the extensive training in the finer arts like presentation of food and body language your mother used to love so much. These lessons allowed you to now display how displeased you were with Madara’s rash behavior, all the while exercising an almost perfect flick of your wrist in picking up an eggroll—only with the rise of your eyebrow and a twitch of your lips.

The best though: Madara couldn’t say anything. He could grumble, yes, he could mumble into his invisible beard and throw more dirty glares at your and the food, but officially, he couldn’t say anything. The manners he surprisingly possessed forbid him from doing so. You watched him plop down in his usual place, wrinkle his nose, take another look at your silhouette as you calmly took another bite of rice, only to grab his chopsticks and pick up some grilled eggplant himself. He smelled the single slice, raised it into the air to inspect it more closely, even touched it warily with the tip of his index finger just to make sure the single slice of eggplant wouldn’t jump and try to kill him.

Surprisingly, the eggplant didn’t move. In fact, the outer rims flopped more up and down like the tired wings of a bird. A rather pathetic sight the Uchiha heir showed to you.

“Can you stop playing with your food and actually eat? Gods, I have seen children being less picky with their breakfast than you.”

Immediately, Madara dropped the eggplant onto his plate. “I’m not picky, but you surely have done something to the food!”

“Of course, I have.” Not even thinking about asking for permission, you reached over and picked up his slice of eggplant yourself. Madara’s eyes followed your hand to your mouth, how you took a little bite out of the slice and started to chew. “I prepared it. I cooked it. I made it _nice. _Just because you can’t appreciate that doesn’t mean you can be nasty about it.”

The eggplant, being violated and thrown around, still was a delicious feast in itself. Humming under your breath, you took a bite, watching Madara how he watched you. He probably expected you to drop dead any second, measured at the impatient wrinkle between his eyes, the little tug at his mouth, the sparkle in his dark eyes. Undisturbed, you continued to nibble at the eggplant, until Madara’s grim expression turned flabbergasted and shocked.

“It’s not poisoned?” he asked.

You snorted. “Of course not. Why should I? Remember, your empty head is my life insurance for your clan to not kill me on sight.”

Wisely enough, Madara didn’t answer that rhetorical question. Instead, he picked another slice of eggplant and instead of watching it like the plant could kill him any second, he devoured the piece with three huge bites.

_That was funny. Well, what to do next to rile him up…?_

~ X ~

A few days after the breakfast-incident (you were still silently cackling when you thought about that morning) your research was going well, and that’s why you decided to reward yourself with the next step of your quite brilliant plan.

You knew when and where Madara would train his tai-jutsu. And to avoid getting rusty, it should be your _good _right to continue your training schedule while being confined by the Uchiha Clan, right? Plus, in theory, you were the future matriarch of the Clan, no matter what Madara said, and as the matriarch, you had to be able to fight and protect “your” clan.

Your clan. You shuddered at the mere imagination of seeing the cursed breed of the devil as your own flesh and blood. No, not in a thousand years, not even when the earth would split open and swallow you whole. The Uchiha would never…

Okay, maybe not when the earth would split open. Just a figure of speech, nothing serious. You were still fully dedicated to hate the Uchiha, of course.

You shook your head. Gods, even your head was confused by the early hour. Damn the Uchiha. Just… damn them. Altogether.

The sun just barely cracked upon the sky, only a few clouds drifted upon the orange-colored horizon as you struggled to get into the tiny bit too tight training clothes. Gods, was everything they gave you for training-purposes literally skintight? A dark shirt without sleeves, a wide round neckline revealing your clavicles, and pants reaching down to your ankles, and everything was skintight. Self-consciously, you tried to tug the shirt more over your heavily accentuated butt, but to no avail.

_Well… It teases him certainly a bit more…?_

_Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t even walk straight without blushing to the same red as the Uchiha-crest._

Again, you looked yourself up and down in the mirror. Would this be okay? Was this still in the range of harmless jesting and making fun of him? Or would throwing yourself onto him be an invitation for Madara to do more things to you than you were willing to do? You were heavily aware of the fact that in a direct fight—only relying on tai-jutsu—Madara would win. Just because he was a man, blessed by nature with more muscles and more physical strength.

_Fucking asshole._

With a sigh, you turned away from the mirror. Nothing to be done there. You could only hope that he would chalk it up as another part of the joke you would play on him, by being nice and friendly and asking him to spar with you. Nothing else.

_In skintight clothing even I feel uncomfortable in. Great._

No way around it. Another sigh left your mouth, then you carefully exited the room, head turning left and right to make sure Madara wouldn’t see you before you wanted him to see you. The hallway was empty, to be expected at this early hour and only with you two and an unconscious Izuna living here. On tip-toes and with all of your agility and sneakiness of a shinobi, you made it to the stairs and descended them, always on edge and waiting for Madara’s voice to cut through the air. But nothing came, just the faint birdsong from outside; the birdsong, intermixing with the soft grunts and moans of someone being active at a ridiculously early hour.

With bated breaths, you continued your way into the library. And yes, just as expected, the door leading outside was slightly ajar. Still on your tip-toes, you also sneaked past the pile of scrolls from yesterday, the new adjustments you made to the seals—written down on a wad of papers spread out over the small table, the nearly empty pot of ink. There, the groans became louder the closer you came to the door, and when you opened it, the sight of a sweaty, red-faced and slightly disheveled Madara came into view.

His wild hair was bound in a high pony tail, single strands of unruliness falling into his stern face. His forehead laid in wrinkles, nose scrunched up as his dark eyes found yours, standing on the patio in the Uchiha-training clothing he gave to you. The flaps of his yukata were falling open, revealing bits of his naked chest and drops of sweat clinging to some well-developed muscles you weren’t able to tear your eyes away from.

A glorious sight, truly. In all his frustration and grumpiness, Madara Uchiha was probably the most beautiful bastard you had the displeasure to know.

“What are you doing here?” he growled as you descended down the small set of stairs. “What are you wearing?”

You clicked your tongue, even though his two questions were ghosting around in your head for a while now. “What I am wearing should be obvious to anyone who has eyes and a brain, but considering you’re missing one of these two, I shall explain it. These are clothes to _train _in. You know, because I’m also a _shinobi_.” You stretched the single syllables out to emphasis how low these blows were, what made Madara’s expression darken even more. “And now that you know what I’m wearing, it should also be fairly obvious what I’m planning to do, you imbecile.”

“Izuna hasn’t woken up yet.”

“And he won’t do so even if I would dedicate the next hour of my life towards research. I’ve slaved away for days now over scrolls and seals and foggy theory. Let me have a little bit of fun and stretch my legs a bit.” With this last snappy remark, you descended onto the grass of the garden. The green beneath your naked soles felt lush and soft, no small pebbles marking the way as you marched over to Madara’s side.

He still wasn’t convinced. The wrinkles on his forehead spoke a thousand words, even when his mouth kept tightly shut and lips pressed together like he had to keep himself from spitting out the most terrible insults he could think of.

“See? Was that so hard?” You rolled your eyes at him.

Madara sneered. “Yes, it is. One hour, not any longer. You will return to the library, or I—!”

“Will break my bones and drink my blood, curse the Senju and wipe them off the plane of existence. You know, your threats would be more threatening if I would actually believe them.” Dismissal laid in every single of your motions as you waved over your shoulder, before bending forward and stretching your aching body. At the feeling of your muscles being used and some straining knots screaming at the movements, you nearly let out a satisfied moan, vibrating deep within your throat. Gods, some training was really overdue.

At least, for a few seconds. Big hands wrapped itself around your upper arms and straightened you out, nearly ripping your right arm out of the socket of its joint with the force he used. Pain flashed through your shoulder, but you gritted your teeth and only hissed into Madara’s face.

“Fuck off! I’ve earned this! Nothing you will or can do will make me move from this exact spot without my permission! Either get lost or do whatever you broody Uchiha’s do when their panties are in a twist!”

Without a hint of fear, you glared deep into the black eyes of your arch enemy. No hint of red to be seen; and yet, even though you knew he could instantly cast an illusion over you which would make you his willing slave, you couldn’t bring yourself to fear that fate. He wouldn’t do it. He would never do so, only if you dared to hurt one of his kin or even worse, his brother.

_How you trusted that was beyond you_. 

Madara was so close you could smell the faintest notes of his sweat, the clean scent of his soap mixing with something primal and rough, untamed and barely contained; a scent you would always connect to him and no one else. Your eyes dipped lower, to the lips still stretched into a wordless growl. Not for the first (or last) time, the question how the grim and dark Uchiha would taste in the unlikely case of a kiss flashed through your mind.

He had nice lips. Perfectly kissable lips. The idiot.

“Don’t you dare,” his deep voice was barely above a whisper, and to your horror, it sent pleasant shudders down your back which made you want to curl up beneath a blanket and do things to yourself you hadn’t even dreamed of until now, “to question my dedication or power. I will admit that erasing the Senju would be a bit too much, but if you go against me, I will make your life a living hell.”

In a challenge, you raised your chin. “I don’t know if you have noticed, _Uchiha_, but my life is already hell.”

“Right now, you’re living off of my good will, _Senju_. Imagine your lowly existence if you would lose even that.”

Before you could retort with anything clever, Madara stepped away. In a subconscious gesture, he wiped his hands off on his own yukata, before giving you a last, deadly glare. “One hour. After that, I expect you back in the library, trying to help my brother.”

Only when the last bits of his body where gone behind the doors of his home, you crumpled to the ground in a messy pile of shaky limbs and wobbly knees. Your plan had been to rile _Madara _up, with your attire and words and movements. So, how come you were the one to almost surrender to the heat inside your stomach when listening to his threats and dark voice?

Somewhere along the way, you realized, of teasing and throwing Madara off, you had fucked up. You had no clue where exactly, but you did.

Maybe it was better to lay off the jokes to concentrate on the reason why you were here. The faster you could return home and try to forget these strange, foreign feelings, the better.

~ X ~

The days passed by in a haze of swallowed teases, jokes and the growing feeling of not even missing them. Madara’s behavior towards you could almost be called civil, while you tried to behave a bit more than before. It was of utmost importance to help Izuna, or help Madara accept his brother was unlikely to ever return as the person he knew. Every time you tried to gently lead a rare conversation towards that particular topic, the dumb Uchiha would brush it off with a mere “You will fix it. You know the consequences.”

The answer that “knowing the consequences” wouldn’t necessarily lead to success and a miracle-healing of Izuna, Madara ignored with the stubbornness of someone who didn’t want to see the wall he was running into.

Thus, you feared that you had to spend the rest of your days doing fruitless jobs, but then, a small ray of hope shone onto your fate.

One morning, you were busy clearing up the last bits of your breakfast as a knock echoed through the hallways. Both of you froze, Madara with his chopsticks holding still onto a piece of grilled meat, you sipping at a cup of clear water.

“Who dares to disturb me?” The dark clouds typical for the man were already starting to assemble in the room.

After a careful sip, you lowered the cup back to the table. “I neither have the eyes of the Hyuuga nor am I a particular good sensor, so I suggest that you get up and open the door to check.”

“Damn woman,” he grumbled, but nevertheless got onto his feet. Nothing more than a tease answering your dry joke. Thus, you tried to hide the snort in another bite of rice, while you watched him leave the room. Maybe it was a silent gesture of gratitude or something entirely else, but he left the door a tiny bit ajar, so you could listen to the sounds in the hallway as Madara opened the front door.

“Yes?” His gruff voice betrayed how annoyed he already was.

“Madara-sama, we came to speak to you about your bride.”

Well, at least they got straight to the point. You grimaced while pushing your rice from one side of the bowl to the other. Whoever ‘they’ were, but you could take an educated guess just measured at the tone of the concerned tones of the visitors.

The elders of the clan. Not people you wanted to be close to, at all costs.

“What about my bride is your concern?” he instantly retorted.

You huffed. For once, you were of the same opinion as Madara. Good for him to shoot the intruders down instantly.

Apparently though, the meddlesome elders came prepared. “The way she was taken. Was the procedure following our traditions?”

“Of course, it did!”

“Did she consent?”

“Yes.”

“We’re just asking, Madara-same, because the way you arrived seemed to be not that consenting. The guards reported that she was still struggling and seemed to not accept of the rituals. Plus, the last rites also haven’t been fulfilled and make some of the clan ask what she’s waiting for.”

Ice ran through your veins as you listened to the conversation. Was that it? Would your refusal of the rites be a problem? Would it lead to you being chased away, or even worse, your death?

_I just hope Madara can handle this for once with grace. Please, you stupid idiot of a clan leader. Use your brain, just this once._

His low growl would be able to cut through steel, or so it seemed to you as you listened to the only hope you had left. “My bride has more honor in her small finger than you all possess in your entire body. She pushed back the rites because she promised she would heal Izuna before that. She knows how important it is to fix her mistakes before she’s ready to join us fully. It’s her present to me as her husband and lover. Doesn’t that speak of consent to you as well, elders? Of respect for our blood and values? Of her dedication to start our marriage with as little existing weight on our souls as possible? Considering our clans were always enemies, this is more than any of you would be willing to give to their spouse.”

_He did it, this mad lad. He really went there._

So, Madara could actually talk and convince the meddlesome elders of the clan (apparently an universal experience) like a true leader would. In his usual ferocious, rough and yet impressive style. The elders meant to attack him, to question their bond before entering his house, but Madara turned the tables. Attack as his best defense. Truly, only Madara could pull this stunt off.

You relaxed again, picking up the cup and taking another sip. For once, you could actually trust Madara with handling this one issue by himself. Or so you thought. The elders actually came back from that ruthless beat-down and questioning of their honor and face.

Their whimsy voices echoed through the hallway, making you sick and twisting your stomach into a painful, tight knot. “Madara-sama, we only have the best of the clan in mind. What if she just pretends to be a loyal member of the family? What if she just wanted to invade our grounds and undermine our strength, spy on us? How much can we trust her, when she refuses to comply to our oldest rituals?”

Even from here, parted by several walls and a door, you could almost feel how Madara’s brain went blank. He couldn’t counter this argument at all. Of course, your behavior was suspicious. Refusing to take the very last step after you already parted with your clan, burying yourself in Madara’s home, not going out and socializing with your future family… You would ask the same questions if you were in the position as the elders. Especially when the spouse came from a clan such as the Uchiha.

That was it. You had to defend yourself, like always. An absolutely ice-cold, strong woman, fitting to deserve their respect and deemed worthy of respect, that was what you had to present to the elders to convince them that everything was fine, while also showing that you wouldn’t accept any of their distasteful comments. With harsh and precise motions, you brushed through your hair, until the vague reflection in the nearby window panel seemed not like you just climbed out of bed. A few brushes and tugs at your yukata, straightening the small wrinkles and little imperfections out, until you shook your hands and arranged the sleeves until they were completely covered. Lastly, you dared to dip your fingers into a water pitcher and washed your face in the shortest, most desperate attempt imaginable.

You took a last steadying breath in, before drifting into the hallway with the aura of a snow fairy permeating the space.

Almost immediately, the three elders turned their heads to look past Madara with varying degrees of confusion and expectation written all across their faces.

With a cool nod, you continued your way. Step by step, your naked feet carried you further towards the group. When you were barely a meter away, Madara turned his head, his ink-black hair falling over his shoulder like a thick curtain. In his eyes stood an uncertain question, which you answered with a slight angling of your head.

“Greetings, dear elders,” you stopped right by Madara’s right side and smiled in cold calculation at them, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They were surprised. You could see it in the way they exchanged quick glances, before the one in the middle spoke up.

“Greetings, (Y/N) Senju. It’s also a pleasure for us to meet the bride Madara-sama has chosen.”

He hinted at a small bow, barely a nod. An insult to the future matriarch of their clan. Expected though, considering your blood and clan.

You placed a hand on Madara’s arms, just as much for the purpose to steady and steel yourself for what was about to happen and to create the illusion of casual intimacy. “Thank you for your presence. I’m happy to be finally one with Madara’s clan, and seeing people like you working hand in hand with him is reassuring. I hope one day, I can be a just as big help for him as you are.”

The trio shuffled around. Sure, their slight disrespect weighed a lot, but the slight hints at your future position and the influence you would have over Madara weighed a lot more. The slightest hint of a grin tugged at the corners of your lips, but you hadn’t won the battle yet.

A courteous nod on your part didn’t betray the kinds of insults you would haul at them if your life wouldn’t be on the line. “But I digress. What kind of issue needs the consultation of my betrothed?”

“Not yet,” the left one actually took the bait, “you’re not yet his real bride. Just a candidate for that position.”

Madara’s arm underneath your hand tensed up. “I already told you, the rituals-!”

“Were indeed pushed back because of me.”

All eyes were on you, but you acted like you didn’t care. No one spoke, and you used the pause to your advantage. One by one, you looked them in the eyes, calmly answered their hesitant distrust and their badly hidden intentions before speaking up again, while Madara’s arm and muscles relaxed more the longer you spoke. “As my betrothed already pointed out, I don’t feel comfortable becoming part of his family if my… mistake with Izuna is still in the way. It would be a start on the wrong foot, and not even trying to help him…” A shudder wrecked your body, definitely played up and made to catch the sympathies of your listeners. “I don’t even want to imagine what the clan, my future family would think of me. I know how it must look to you, the elders, who look out for the younger ones and protect them with their insight and wisdom. I must seem like a spy, sent to undermine your home. However, I can only beg you to believe me that my intentions are only of pure nature and made to make my marriage to Madara,” you sent the man a little, adoring glance, “as fruitful as possible.”

Another pause, which you used to bring some color to your face by remembering Madara’s rough and demanding voice when he commanded you to cut out the crap and jokes. “I don’t how long it will take and how successful I will be. I can only try my best and hope that my mistakes won’t stand in the way. For the clan to trust me and also…”

The absolute kicker. Your head was screaming at you, cursing and spitting, but nevertheless, you leaned your temple against his shoulder. A sign of trust, casual and weak yet unmistakable.

Fitting for a future matriarch. Definitely fitting for a real betrothed.

“And also,” you continued, “for Madara to forgive me this mistake. I can’t ask for more than that.”

Like it was too much to think about, you raised a hand to dab with your sleeve at the corners of your eyes. Nothing like a little bit of waterwork to soften even the hardest of hearts. And again, it worked. At least Middle and Right seemed to be convinced enough to leave you alone; convinced by the little play you showed them. Left though, who already questioned your position as the rightful bride of Madara, still had doubts.

“These rites are the core of the Uchiha marriage traditions,” he barked, “and they shall not be undermined by a dirty whore like you, who spread her legs for her cousins to—!”

A hand clawed into his thin neck before you could do anything to stop the wave of insults hauled at you. Madara’s face was pulled into a feral snarl, incisors bared like he wanted to bite Left’s face off. “Never again. Never again dare to speak to my bride in that tone.”

A nonsensical garble was everything coming out of the advisor’s mouth. After all, it was hard to talk when your throat was being crushed.

Gently, you reached out and placed your own hand over Madara’s. “Don’t,” you whispered to him, “he’s not worth the blood on your hands and the trouble borne by his death.”

Nevertheless, it took Madara some more tense seconds still to let go of the man. The fingers beneath your palm flexed, before he retreated. Left crumbled to the ground, in a wild heap of his colorful, expensive fabrics and started to cough like his life depended on it.

You kneeled down to speak to him face to face. “I know you’re not inclined to believe me at all, but believe these two unshakable facts: I never slept with Hashirama nor Tobirama or anyone else. And if you dare to actively spread these rumors while I’m staying here, then I will find you. I will not even leave your soulless rotting body behind for your wife to cry over.”

For the first time, you relished in the fear you could awaken in your enemies. Especially after the nasty rumors he brought up again. These lies, born out of misunderstanding and envy of your position, painted a completely different picture than the reality showed.

A hand on your waist made you look up. Madara’s eyes were slightly curled in a joyless grin, still showing too much teeth for it to be truly soothing. Thankfully, the grin wasn’t aimed at you, but at the old advisor, who went pale when Madara proclaimed his support in your just announced plans.

“I also wouldn’t like to hear these false rumors about my bride. If I hear only an inkling of them in the Uchiha Clan, I will make you responsible for them. I advise you to overthink your priorities from now on.”

His hand in the crook of your waist pulled you onto your two feet again. Even more, Madara pressed you against his side, and you couldn’t help yourself but to enjoy the intimacy he created for the sake of this play. Side by side, a true partnership born out of trust and love, you stared down on the advisor, until the other two helped their fallen comrade up and apologized for the early disturbance. While they scrambled away, Left now in the middle of Middle and Right, you stabbed your elbow into Madara’s flank.

“Threatening your own advisors for me? My, I would nearly think you care about me.”

He grunted. “Don’t mistake my kindness for something else. I’m doing this so we’re left alone. Also, I can cement the picture of being a lovestruck whiner for the time you will leave. No one will question your presence, only hate you more for fooling a man with honest feelings.”

“Aaaw.” A little smile flashed over your face. “You’re so mean to me. How will I ever survive this treatment?”

“Whatever.”

But his grip on your waist didn’t lessen, and neither did you try to separate yourself from him. Silent, with a wordless understanding, you both watched the elders leave, while staying connected in a friendly atmosphere you never thought to share with an Uchiha. Especially this special Uchiha.

~ X ~

“Mhm. Interesting.”

“What?”

Just to let Madara stew in his own impatience, you waited for a few more seconds. Only when he struggled to get up from his usual seat on the patio, where he could easily watch over the children playing in the garden just as well as the enemy in his own house, you leaned back in your chair to roll your tensed-up shoulders. “I think now I have a clue how I can possibly cure your brother. Maybe,” you added after a little pause.

After weeks of trying to make sense of these scrolls, finally a few steps into the right direction. Even the offending clothing with the obnoxious Uchiha-crest stitched onto each and every piece didn’t seem as bad anymore. You definitely spent too much time in this household, too close to Madara and too many thoughts wasted on his damned ink-black hair, the depth of his cursed eyes and the strong build he honed every morning, while you watched through the window on your side of the shared bedroom.

Indecent? Definitely. Despicable and a shame for your clan? Maybe. No, probably. But was it hot to sneak a few peeks at him, watching how Madara trained and seeing the deadly precision of his body? Yes, absolutely.

His dark eyes met yours. Weeks ago (_Really? Weeks already?_) you would’ve tried to avoid them. You had seen too many cases of people dying to the mere illusions casted by a Sharingan-wielder. You also knew though that Madara wouldn’t do that. Not without a valid threat from you towards himself, his clan or anyone else dear to him.

“Maybe?” he asked as he rearranged his legs again in his seat. Like an overgrown cat, you realized and watched full of fascination how he tugged at his wild bush of hair to avoid sitting on it. “What means that you ‘maybe’ found a solution?”

“I would go on a long tangent on the difficulty of seals, the vague image and understanding we have on the human soul and the general mystery surrounding my dagger here, but you wouldn’t even understand half of it, so I will just say that I believe I figured out how to “open” the container in this dagger,” you tapped onto the prominent gem glowing in a low mysterious purple, sitting right in the middle of the guard and actual blade, “and search for a specific soul. It’s a start, but still not a safe recovery. I have to make some trials, animals if you can organize some, then I can maybe start to search for Izuna’s soul. If everything goes well.”

“Good.” Madara shifted around, his back turned towards you. From the gardens, the laughter of children drifted inside. You even recognized the telltale giggle of Aimi, who was probably teasing one of the boys with the threat to braid flowers into their hair. A peaceful scenery, beautiful, unmarred by the ugliness of war.

_If any day could be like this, I wouldn’t mind._

Your forehead laid in wrinkles at the sudden thought.

_What? Where did that come from? I never had problems with the war going on. I like the fighting._

_But not the killing. I don’t like that particular part._

_If someone actually likes to kill, they turned into a monster. It’s a sign I’m not dead yet._

_Could I turn back to fight the Uchiha when I return? Could I do that?_

_What if I have to fight Aimi one day? What if I have to face her, a kunai in her too-small hands and death in her red eyes?_

For a mere moment, you dared to think about that more than likely possibility. Aimi, in too big armor, the enforced leather rattling and ill-fitting. Small, chubby fingers slung around the handle of a kunai, badly balanced and even worse in material. The same way you had been. Small and scared and luckier than anything else. Scrawny and hoping everything would be over soon.

No, probably not. You couldn’t imagine doing what you did to so many other enemies. You would remember her laughter, the innocence in her eyes, the day of braiding your hair and picking out flowers.

It would be the same with Madara, you realized suddenly. If you had to face Madara in a battle after this entire play of fiancé and fiancée, of acting like you cared about him in any way, then you weren’t too sure if you were truly able to go through. On an order; maybe. All on your own, not so much.

Hell, you weren’t even able to kill off these damned tingly emotions flying around in your brain and clouding your judgement! This strange weird fever, watching him out of the corners of your eyes whenever you could; using every chance to tease him and watch how his ruffled feathers-antics would become the highlight of your day. You felt something for him you never felt for someone else before, and it scared the shit out of you.

He was an Uchiha, for fuck’s sake! The natural enemy of the Senju, always fighting, always hating each other. How could you possibly dare to fall for him?

_On the other hand, _you thought to yourself and continued to watch Madara’s back, _Hashirama claims they are friends. They have a connection with each other. How did Hashirama call it? A first step or something._

A first step for peace between your clans. You stared blankly onto your desk, seeing nothing but the possible future before your eyes. So, that was what Hashirama felt when he spoke about this utopia. A slight sliver of hope, despair at the current situation, longing and aching for something which didn’t yet exist but was against all odds _possible_.

It was there. Barely out of reach, but so close. Barely the joint of a finger and with a little bit of stretching and crawling on the skin of their teeth, such peace might be possible.

With a low sigh, you dropped your head onto the table. Only when the cooler wood hit your forehead and you could protect yourself from the world with your own arms acting as a shield, you managed to bring some sense of order into your confusing, swirling thoughts. The darkness helped, thankfully.

Maybe, the darkness and mulling over the future helped with your recent case of sleeplessness. You weren’t even aware you had fallen asleep, until the very moment someone dropped something heavy yet soft on your shoulders. Out of trained instinct, you kept your eyes closed, evened out your breathing and didn’t move a single muscle, but your ears strained to catch every possible sound. You didn’t want to believe it, but in this house, there were only two people possible to cover you with a blanket, and one of them was clinically dead.

It was Madara. He was close enough for his scent to permeate the air, rich and strong and intoxicating. With an unknown gentleness, he adjusted a wrinkle in the blanket until the fabric was soft and smooth again. Instead of stepping away though, his presence lingered. Waited. Watched. Suddenly, you could feel a single finger in your hair. Not a cruel gesture to rip you out of your sleep. More of an adoring gesture of endearment. You couldn’t explain the little tug otherwise; the little tug at your hair, too soft to wake you from your faked sleep and too weak for anything else.

Your heart thumbed in your chest. A drum, rolling and thundering while Madara kept standing nearby and holding onto a thin strand of your hair. His knuckles barely kissed your cheek at one point, leaning against your skin with a feather-light touch. He was warm; just like the aftermath of the fire they regularly used in battle. A pleasant source of heat, especially nice against the colder, exposed skin of your face.

Before any of you could do more than that, one of the children in the garden shrieked. Madara flinched backwards, nearly ripping the strand out in the process. It didn’t hurt, but you still had to keep every muscle in your body relaxed and still to avoid being caught. Instead of opening your eyes, you mumbled something inaudible, before turning your face into the other direction. The blanket on your shoulder moved the tiniest bit, but didn’t fall down. His steps paused on the wooden floor, then he came back. Again, his fingers tugged with the lightness of a shinobi at the blanket, arranged it to his liking, before Madara pulled back again, this time for good.

You listened to him settle down again, the flurry of fabrics brushing against each other and the soft grunts telling you he was also carefully taking his long mat of untamable hair out of the way. The weight and the smell of the blanket was pleasant as you decided to drift off again, not caring for a few more hours about the crude reality or the silver lining on the horizon, together with the more than possible hurt which would go along with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big thanks to Chisie, the most awesome Beta in the world T^T9
> 
> And the belonging art of the last scene where Madara covers the MC with a blanket is from [IntellectualArtDump](https://intellectualartdump.tumblr.com/post/612594113240530944/alternate-versions-of-the-flat-color-sketch) AKA TheIntellectualWeeb, who is funnily enough also the requester of this fic. I won the first prize of their 200 Follower Raffle and decided to go with some fanart of their request (I thought it was funny ^^''). I hope you guys like it just as much as I do! :D


	4. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the weeks of research, you find yourself incredibly conflicted and tangled up in the orders from Hashirama, your own challenged believes and the strange feelings you slowly developed for Madara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back! Sorry for the long wait on this chapter, it took me a while but I still believe that the wait was a bit worth it ;) In this chapter there will be lots of fluff, but also angst and lots of confused emotional responses born from years of prejudices and learned hatred. It will try to explain it more in the next and last chapter (even though there is again the chance for a little addition up in the air), so if there are any questions emerging, you can ask in the comments and I will try to answer as best as I can! :D
> 
> I already have a plan for the conclusion and definitely hope it will be written faster than this chapter ^^'' I don't want to promise too much though...

The soul, you had realized through weeks of intense research of old and brittle scrolls, was a fickle thing. Of course, the soul was what gave the body life; the personality to go along with every day gestures. The body held onto the soul, gave it a vessel to reside in, while the soul gave strength. However, anything could upset the thin balance between soul and body, from a minor inconvenience to a major accident. And also of course, stealing the soul of someone was a really bad thing.

Though, that much had been clear from the very start. But you never knew how bad it truly was—what it meant, to what you doomed your victims. According to the scrolls and going hand in hand with the description of your dagger, the body without a soul would slowly wither away, not truly dead but definitely not alive either. And the soul… The soul, if not trapped by a prepared gem, would not be able to go back into the body on its own. Doomed to float around, unable to go back, not even a vengeful ghost but a sad afterimage of a person who would never know what it meant to even _die _truly and fully.

An unsettling thought. Killing people was still somehow acceptable in your books, considering there was an ongoing war, but you never thought about what happened to the souls you stole. To the bodies you left behind. It meant you sometimes buried _still-somehow-living _people when you had taken them down with a little nick of your dagger. It meant you were unnecessarily cruel, unbeknownst or not, and cruelty was one of the things which truly disgusted you.

You almost started to hate the heirloom you wielded until now with such pride and confidence. A single touch to the leather of its sheath didn’t soothe you like before any longer, just like the weight of the steel didn’t feel comforting anymore. You were aware of the pain you had brought with the dagger, and understood for the first time why your father always had acted a tiny bit hesitant around you whenever you told about the stories of your newest victory.

He knew the repercussions and didn’t tell you. Was aware telling the truth, painting the terrifying picture in all its cruel colors would not go well.

In a sense, you mused dryly, discovering this yourself in the middle of the Uchiha and faced by one of the still salvageable cases you caused was the best thing which could’ve happened. Saving Izuna would surely make the bad taste on your tongue disappear. Together with the dark premonition whenever you would touch your heirloom. It had to. It just had to go away.

Madara had to notice the newborn hesitation, but surprisingly didn’t comment on it. He only watched with his dark eyes, how you would pause for a moment before grabbing the handle of your dagger. Watched and maybe raised one eyebrow, but not a snarky word or poisonous remark was made.

Strangely enough, you were grateful for that silence. More than that, you caught yourself staring at more than one occasion at Madara. Not when he was training, chest bare and hair pulled into a high pony-tail. No, you caught yourself sneaking glances at him during totally mundane tasks, like watching out of the corner of your eyes how he would eat his breakfast and sip at his green, bitter tea. Such mundane tasks as watching how he would sit down every third day and brush with careful motions through the wild bush he called hair, combing out knots and tangled up strands. Easy, everyday tasks with no great importance, and still you couldn’t help yourself but to watch him out of the corner of your vision.

He had to notice that too. More than once, you found yourself locking eyes with him. Of course, you would never linger, look away in shame and in your case, often enough with a suspiciously red face, but the fact still stood in the middle of the room that he noticed these looks.

But again, Madara didn’t comment on the matter. Thus, you continued to steal glances, while trying to work out the different problems and challenges of extracting only Izuna’s soul and putting it back into the belonging body.

And that task was even harder than you already anticipated.

You started off with rabbits. Small, skittish creatures, easy to catch and even easier to kill and dispose of. Lots of rabbit meat was prepared during these days; of the rabbits you killed by stealing their soul and trying to bring them back, unsuccessfully. The seals around their little furry bodies grew larger and more incarnate, more and more details while almost the same amount of detail was thrown out again to uselessness.

A week after you started to work with the rabbits, you sat once again in a circle of seals and unnecessarily complicated letters, dagger right in front of you, legs crossed and arms settled onto your thighs as you tried to meditate and go through the by now internalized schedule.

_Finding the chakra of the gem in the dagger, because, yes, with the energy of a thousand souls and more, this damn thing developed its own little chakra source._

_Find it and hold it._

_Diving into it like diving into the ocean._

Certainly “diving” into the source was one of the strangest feelings you ever felt, which included the little _crush_ you harbored for Madara (there, you admitted it. A crush, a silly stupid unnecessary delirious crush, and nothing else). It was like giving yourself to the sea, or how you imagined the sea to be from the tales of your father who loved to speak about the one time he stole a small boat. The boat wound up being thrown around by the high waves until it inevitably sank, but magically, your father survived. Shaken up, drenched to the bones and with a healthy amount of respect for the ocean and its strength, but otherwise perfectly fine, he had been washed to the shore close by to the house of his parents. Unharmed, by the way. Unharmed except for some slight bruises and scratches. A miracle, your father liked to say when he retold this specific tale, with the same awed wonder in his eyes some other shinobi would speak about their special someone.

The sea was brutal, unwavering, but could also be friendly. Just like the energy inside this gem, and you were about to toss yourself—or even worse, your unprotected mind—into that deep whirlpool, and you had no idea what it could do to you.

“Hurry up,” Madara growled in your back, “we don’t have time all day.”

“Excuse me,” you glared over your shoulder, pulling back your upper lip that your canines were visible, “do you risk your sanity or do I? As little as I know, I could come out of this shit and be a blabbering, drooling, incoherent mess.”

“Certainly not a loss I would cry over.”

“Aaaw, don’t be a grump.” You turned again around, shoulders relaxed even though your lungs seemed to tighten at the weak disappointment overcoming your mind. “You would certainly miss me.”

A long pause followed. Too long for your taste. Again, you glanced over your shoulder, seeing what made Madara pause for so long over such an easily deflected statement. Hell, he hated you! He could just spit out a hiss and a weak insult and could be done with it. But no, instead he seemed to contemplate your words with a rather attractive, sharp and literate expression, one hand cupping his chin, the other crossing his wide chest. The black hair fell in gruff waves over his shoulder, untamed and free like the wild horses which would sometimes run past the Senju-compound.

He bit weakly into his bottom lip, just a flash of white teeth digging into the plump rosy skin. Quickly, you whipped your head back towards the dead rabbit, the incarnate seals, the difficult task at hand, anything to divert your traitorous thoughts from the dangerously tempting images popping into existence.

_Kissing Madara would be messy._

_Gods, I want to touch his chest. His waist. Reach under his shirt and find out if skin-to-skin, his warmth would be scorching my hands. I want to bury my hands in this hair. I want his hands on me, feel the callouses dragging over my skin._

You closed your eyes and breathed in. Breathed in and held your breath. There was no use to conjure these images. Literally, no usage whatsoever. Madara didn’t like you in that way, he would never—!

“I would.”

His hoarse admission was music in your ears and a flash ice in your stomach. For a third time, you whipped your head around (so fast you pulled a muscle in your neck, you were sure) just in time to watch how the last bits of black hair vanish out of the door. The only thing Madara left behind were you, confused and strangely happy, the dead rabbit and the light scent of lemons.

~ X ~

Surprisingly, after a while, the tests turned out way better than you imagined. After some trial-and-error, you managed to regularly pull back the soul of a bunny (or another bunny, and to be honest, what was the difference between one or another) into a soulless body. Given, the incarnate seals needed to merely bring back a bunny soul were a pain in the neck to draw, not to talk about pulling back a very specific soul into a very specific body, but at this point, it was an important first step on the way of proving that nothing would bring Izuna back, not even hours of crawling on the ground with chalk and ink.

Said first step was also reason enough for Madara to cut you some slack. Graciously, he “allowed” you (of course, you rolled your eyes at him) to have some time for yourself for once.

“What am I supposed to do?” you grumbled, “Walking around the clan grounds is impossible on my own. You can’t be so stupid to believe they won’t attack me if they see a chance to do so. I’m still a Senju; have refused the Uchiha rites; I stole Izuna’s soul. Basically, I’m one of the demon kings, but even worse than that.”

Madara scoffed, an expression which wasn’t particularly flattering for him, but nevertheless had its advantages, especially for your suddenly skyrocketing heart. “If these are all of your concerns, I can solve them with a single decision. If you wish to visit the clan grounds and go out of the house, I will come with you.”

You perked up. The chance to get out of these four walls, after two weeks of staring at them with nothing else to do but learn about seals and souls and whatnot, was everything you ever wanted. You weren’t even aware how utterly _boring _it was to be secluded in one spot, even when the companionship kind of grew on you—like fungus grew onto some people—but it would be just nice to get out. Breathe some fresh air, see some other people, even if they would hate your guts to show your face.

“You would do that?”

Madara shrugged, some unruly black strands hanging into his forehead. All this time, he had been the dragon guarding the exit to the house, but in this very moment, the Uchiha turned into a beautiful, handsome prince, ready to whisk you away from the tower in which you were forced to live for so long. You didn’t think, just reacted to the wave of sheer relief and raw happiness washing through you.

With a little laugh on your lips, you jumped onto him, your arms automatically reaching up to sling around Madara’s neck in a surprisingly non-threatening way. No intention of hurting him like you dreamed for such a long time, no intention to kill him. No, just the gratitude of being able to get out of the house.

Madara stiffened in your hug. Understandable, considering you made your previous wishes of harming very clear. Like an iron rod was shoved up his ass, arms pressed to his sides, muscles tense and hesitant to push you away even though he was clearly uncomfortable.

A slight hint of disappointment pulsed through your heart as you withdrew. Just the tiniest bit of corrosive, destructive, burning emotion you didn’t dare to put a name on, at seeing Madara step away and not react like the romantic interests of the heroines in the romantic novels you only read in the depth of the night with locked doors. In the books, the interests would always respond positively to a single touch, a look, a whispered word…

As stated, Madara didn’t react. So, you tried to squash that stupid spark beneath the soles of your feet as you teasingly grinned up to him, head cocked to the side and rocking back and forth on your feet.

“Stop it, woman.” Madara growled.

Your grin grew by a margin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your grin says more than enough. Just… get dressed into proper clothing. Not these… rags you are in right now. I will wait outside.”

“What, _rags_? I’m wearing some clothes you gave me, you imbecile!” You shook your fist at him, the familiar rage washing through you with the force of the ocean. In the back of your mind, you were aware Madara was only teasing you, but you couldn’t help yourself. Under grumbling and mumbling to yourself as well as evil glares you threw over your shoulder, you stomped upwards to change, still grumbling into your non-existent beard as you changed from your lax, loose pants and shirt into one of the silk-yukata with the Uchiha-fan boldly displayed right above your heart. As an extra and because you felt like it, you tied your hair up into a bun only to hold your hair into place with an extraordinaire hairpin. Jade ornate, creamy-white ivory and the carvings of the Uchiha-fan all over the pin. A truly expensive gift, and one you hadn’t used until now.

There hadn’t been a single opportunity, after all.

When you glided down the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other holding onto the wide sway of silk in order to not step on it, Madara was just busy to pull on some sandals. He looked up, some more loose strands falling into his face and curling around his eyes, which widened the slightest bit as they spotted you.

Triumph flashed through you. Oh yes, he noticed the little details you added. The hairpin, the expensive silk, the satisfied-smug expression on your face. His dark eyes mustered you from head to toe, and a pleasant little shiver crawled down your spine. A shiver which made your toes curl in a way which probably was deeply forbidden for a Senju to feel for an Uchiha.

_I’m daydreaming again._

“Speechless, Uchiha?” you mocked while descending the stairs completely.

One eyebrow rose as Madara grumped and lowered his head back to the task of pulling his sandals on. “It just always amazes me how well you clean up. You could almost look like a true Uchiha if not for the fact you’re still wearing the face of a Senju.”

“I can’t do anything about my face.”

“A true misfortune, then.”

Unlike before, you didn’t mind his insults a lot. Just the fact Madara especially mentioned your face, basically insinuated you were ugly or not up to his standards or even _both_, that stung a little bit.

You masked your disappointment with a weak flick of your wrist before brushing past the man. “Well, I also have complaints about your face in particular, but you don’t hear me loudly mentioning them.”

Suddenly, a hand reached for your shoulder, deft fingers brushing over the too-thin fabric. “You sure may have complaints about my face, but not about my body. I know you like to watch me train.”

Your heart stopped, only to accelerate into the highest heights. Nevertheless, you played your surprise at being discovered off, shrugged and turned around, a teasing and yet fake smile tugging at your face. “Your body? Please. I watch you to study the way of the Uchiha-tai-jutsu, nothing else. Interesting though you noticed my spying. Means you’re looking out for me more than I thought.”

It was your win. Strangely enough though, the spark of disappointment at his comment of your face only grew when Madara didn’t say anything back, just grumped and stomped past you, out of the door and into the sunlight.

Out into the open field. Out under the scrutinizing eyes of the entire Uchiha-clan. You swallowed a sudden gob of bile and anxiety down.

_This is nothing, _you tried to tell yourself while slowly slipping into your own sandals made out of almost impossible soft, bleached leather, _this is nothing to what I’ve already done. Just act like you’re totally in love with the mule._

With Madara. A task which probably would be easier than you would like.

“How long,” his rough, gruff voice vibrated in your chest, “are you going to take to slip some sandals on, for kami’s sake?”

“Excuse me that I’m used to shinobi sandals and not the stupid incarnate footwear of housewives.” You hissed back. Finally, the damned leather slid into place and you were able to walk out of Madara’s house without embarrassing yourself in any shape or form. At least, you thought you looked fine, but Madara’s scowl said otherwise as he watched you close the door and turn again towards him.

“What?” you snapped. “Do I have too weak ankles to your liking now, or what?”

No answer. His scowl only deepened, before Madara turned around, his wild mop of hair swinging around like a tail with its own will. With a roll of your eyes, you followed and nearly stumbled into him as he stopped all too suddenly.

Just in time, you managed to stop and glare at his far too wide and muscled back. “What the hell?”

Madara merely shrugged at your aggression. “We probably should hold hands.”

“What?”

A dark growl vibrated through his chest. “Holding hands. To show we’re a couple. Unity and perseverance for the clan, fooling them into thinking we’re…” he lowered his voice further, barely over a whisper, “we’re really infatuated with each other.”

A secret just between the two of you, that there was no infatuation, no crush, no soft feelings. Yet again, the bitter disappointment coated your tongue. It was stupid; it really was. You _knew _Madara only wanted you to help Izuna. You knew it with all of your mind, knew it with your body and all the logical reasoning you could muster, but in your heart, there was still the tinge of disappointment.

Your answer to his growled offer was just as snotty as Madara had been insulting before. “Fine. Maybe you will finally get over your grumpiness if you’re allowed to at least hold the hand of a girl, instead of moping around while others have more fun than you.”

“Just you know, I held plenty of hands. And all of them were very satisfied with how I held their hands!”

“Just shut up and try not to squirm too much,” you elbowed him in the side, a teasing grin on your face, “it would look suspicious if you would blush all the time. I bet your hands are sweaty to the point of slipping out of my grip.”

“They’re not!”

“Really sweaty. Dripping off sweat.”

“Well, yours will be all hard and calloused! Not fit to be the hands of the Uchiha matriarch!”

“You have the same hands, Uchiha. The hands of a shinobi. How are these not fit to be the hands of the Uchiha matriarch if they are allowed to be the ones of the Uchiha leader?”

Thankfully, Madara decided not to answer this question. Instead, he continued to walk onward, his steps calm and careful, while his hand already laid in yours. Not sweaty at all, just gentle pressure of his fingers against the back of your hand and the warmth of his body in your palm.

How dare him that his touch not even repulse you! You were sure it would’ve done the job before this whole ordeal. You would’ve run away and tried to wash and scrub yourself until your skin turned raw and bloody, angry red streaks covering your arms, legs, every part where he touched you.

But now? Now, you wanted nothing more than to keep touching him like this. Innocently and soft. Maybe a bit more willing, but at the moment you would take what you could get from Madara to entertain this little interest which would never bear any kind of fruit…

Wait, but he did say that he would miss you when you were gone.

_Better not think about it too hard._

_Yeah, he probably meant it in a way… Which isn’t the way I think it is._

_Like a dog would miss its fleas. Or something._

Yes. Right now, you could just entertain this fleeting emotion for a little bit longer. It certainly made the stay with the Uchiha Clan a little bit more enjoyable. After you were done and Izuna was properly announced dead, well, then you could just go back to the Senju and think fondly of the few weeks you had a crush on Madara. Like… Like a little romance, just for you. Your little secret romance. No one would be hurt by it, no one had to know.

Then, when you found someone else to think fondly off, you could forget about the silliness of the entire situation. What was your heart thinking for pounding faster whenever you looked at the Uchiha heir? It must be confused, nothing else.

While you were berating and discussing with yourself about the strange crush you harbored for the man by your side, your feet carried you further and further away from the house you had been caged in for the last weeks. Madara continued to lead the way, steps relentless and soft at the same time. Immediately when you two descended from the small hill to walk around the area, people had started to look at you. They looked, glanced and whispered in a hushed tone when they spotted you, the Uchiha head and the kidnapped Senju bride, hand in hand and not bothered by the oh-so-obvious whispering around them.

You hadn’t cared because you had been too busy contemplating your bad choice in crushes, while Madara’s fingers flexed around your hand, squeezing and easing their grip immediately when he noticed. Others might perceive him as calm in this moment, but by now you believed to have him figured out enough to feel the nervousness ooze off of him in waves crashing against your skin. Nervous what the clan might think of him when he showed off the Senju he picked to be the matriarch; the same Senju who killed so many of his family. Nervous because it was maybe the first time for him to hold hands. Nervous because all passersby stared at him, and no shinobi liked to be the center of attention, ever.

Gently, you bumped your head into his shoulder, all the while tugging him slightly down so you could whisper into his ear without craning your neck too much. “Relax,” you hissed, “or else they will think you’re the one in capture and not me.”

“Easier said than done,” he hissed back. His fingers tightened around yours, before he eased his grip again. “You’re not the one who has to answer the clan when they find out we’re not—!”

“You’re not the one who will get tortured, skinned and killed if they ever find out _you-know-what_!”

Thankfully, that shut him up quickly. A little spark in his eyes told him that he never considered the option of you dying before, not seriously at least. Now, he did. And his eyes widened the tiniest bit, the dim realization growing brighter and brighter.

You rolled your own eyes, then tugged him further. “Let’s go, before they really notice something is wrong. I’m hungry. Is there someone who sells something to snack on?”

The quick change of topic did the job. Instead of focusing on the dawning epiphany he just had, Madara turned to his right and led you between two houses, still followed by the glances of the clan. The shadows enveloped you in all its cooler gentleness, but the little secrecy was quickly gone as the small passage spit you two out into the next, wider path. More people, more glances, but you could only stare up to Madara, still with a teasing little smile on your face.

A soft blush spread over the bridge of his nose; the weakest shade of red possible. You had to test something, urgently. Still smiling, you raised your entangled hands to your lips, only to softly press your lips against the back of his hand. Madara kept on staring, only for the blush to explosively spread all over his face, neck and the bits of his chest exposed by the neckline of his clothing.

_It’s totally for show. Like, totally._

_Yeah, tell that yourself, will you? You _totally_ didn’t want to see him blush and squirm a little bit._

“What are you doing?” But despite the panicked hiss, Madara didn’t reclaim his hand nor did he pull back. Instead, you thought you could almost feel how his fingers tightened once more around yours, and this time, they didn’t lessen their grip at all.

Around you, the people seemed to coo the tiniest bit at the gesture of sickly-sweet public display of affection. Some children (Aimi among them, you noticed) faked a gag, only to point and giggle at Madara’s raging blush still fighting its way over his entire face.

“What the hell are you doing?” he repeated and his face behind that monstrous bush of hair of his. “This isn’t—! Have you no shame?”

You grinned at him. “No shame at all.”

Some whistles and teases could be heard, even one or two comments of how “you maybe weren’t that bad for Madara-sama”. Alone the few compliments made your heart grow lighter. Hope dawned on you, before you shook your head at your own silliness. No, there was no way this would ever become reality. Stop dreaming and get to work, you had a job to do. And at the moment, your job was to convince the people around you that you were deeply in love.

Hell, you could only pray Madara could do the same.

After he fought down his embarrassment, the older boy stomped off, dragging you after him under the continued whistles and teases of the rest of his clan. Though, his steps slowed down after he left behind the largest group of the witnesses, only to turn around and raise your hands into your face.

“Don’t do that again!”

Coolly, you raised a single eyebrow. “Wait, you’re asking me to openly hate you? Let me remind you that these people will…” Your voice trailed off as a few older women walked by, baskets in their hands and their eyes instantly falling onto your innocent embrace. Only when they were a few meters behind you, you dared to speak up once more. “Your people will kill me if they find out what we’re doing. To denounce the holy rituals of the Uchiha to sneak a Senju into your midst right under everyone’s nose. I’m just playing my part to _save my own life_. So, the better question would be: What are you doing?”

Something seemed to snap inside the Uchiha’s mind, and for the first time, you asked yourself if you maybe pushed him too far with the peck to his hand. An unnatural calmness suddenly eased the glint in his black eyes. Even his hair, unruly and wild, seemed to deflate a little bit, straightened out and slickened.

“So…” Madara stepped closer, right up into your personal space. Out of instinct, you took a step backwards, but he followed. “You’re challenging me?”

Another step forward on his part and one back on yours. “No.”

“Oh, you just did. I heard it loud and clear.”

“I never challenged you to anything, don’t be silly.”

Your back touched the nearest wall (A house? A wall? A food stand? It didn’t matter). At the moment, no other people were around, a blessing and a curse at the same time. Instantly, Madara closed the last bits of distance. His heat crashed into your front, making _you _blush furiously, making your mind go blank and your lips fall open and close without any sound falling off of them. You certainly didn’t intend nor expect the day to go like this!

His breath fanned in delirious short waves over your face as Madara leaned forward. Right into your personal space, way past the border of being comfortable with each other, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care how absolutely intimate and ridiculous it must look for a Senju and Uchiha to be so close to each other.

His lips were a mere few centimeters away as he continued, the single syllables brushing over your skin in a way which made a comfortable, tingly shudder rain down your back.

“All I heard,” his whispers sent more showers of sheer sweet agony down your spine, “was a challenge to be as sickly-sweet lovey-dovey as possible to prove to my people thay I’m absolutely smitten with the likes of you. And I’m definitely up to win this one.”

Before you could do more than inhale with a sharp gasp, Madara already pulled back, holding out his hand once more and with an untypically mischievous sparkle glimmering in his dark eyes. “I’m looking forward to today, (Y/N).”

As you glanced sideways, just away from this delirious sight, you noticed how some other people were abruptly stepping aside, grinning and giggling to themselves and others when knowing looks were thrown around. They really saw that as just another act of fresh love, didn’t see anything strange in the way Madara held out his hand, didn’t think it was weird how their stern and uptight clan leader looked like a naughty boy about to play a mean prank on his least favorite teacher.

You had two options. One was to run away like a scaredy-cat and never look back, risking another flare in the war going on between the two clans or to take his hand and accept the challenge which hadn’t been a challenge a few minutes ago, but apparently was one now.

You couldn’t back down from that challenge, neither could you risk to cause more death and destruction. A little grin curled your lips as you reached out and deliberately slow placed your hand in his up-turned palm. When you closed your fingers around his, smiling oh so sweetly at him, your heart jumped only the tiniest bit.

Not a lot. Totally not. Sometimes you had weird palpations, there was nothing wrong with it, especially when you were speaking and touching Madara, okay? Everything was completely fine. There was nothing to worry about. _Everything was going to be fine._

Except that it wasn’t.

It started with the casual intimacy you definitely weren’t prepared for. Madara, who had avoided any kind of skin-to-skin contact with you until now, always seemed to have at least a finger attached to you. A hand on your shoulder, his fingers sliding against the curve of your hips, a finger possessively slipping over your uncovered neck and swiping some astray strands aside. To say you were flustered the entire time while you were out and strolling around the clan grounds would be an understatement. Plus the hand holding, it was almost too much for you to bear.

So, you retaliated by calling him pet names. It was an absolute delight to see Madara blush when you loudly and for everyone to hear called him “love” while picking out something to eat. His ears went red, his face did too, and when he hid his blush in his prickly, bushy hair, the surrounding viewers giggled to themselves. They giggled a lot that day, you realized, at yours _and _Madara’s antics. Not only his; embarrassing the Senju into submission and in front of his family, his clan. No, they also laughed while you gently mocked him with your pet names, one more ridiculous than the one before. Honey, starlight, mouse, nothing was too cute and endearing to call Madara.

Well, maybe the last one was too much for him. To be compared to a pest? Not with the proud Uchiha. Unfortunately for you, he wasn’t very creative in his attempts to get back at you. His renewed efforts only consisted of draping himself over you like a gigantic, lazy, touch-starved cat in search for some long-forsaken cuddles and scratches behind his ears. No matter if you were trying to haggle for some food an old woman begrudgingly offered to you or while continuing to walk down the streets, his arm was slung around your shoulders, looped around your waist and tightly slotted against him in an uncomfortably comfortable display of casual affection. Once or twice, you even thought he was thinking about leaning in to press a meek kiss to the corners of your mouth, but the lingering glances to your lower part of the face could mean anything. From trying to make out if one hand of his was big enough to completely wrap around your throat to throttle to complete silence or a skittish peck to your cheek, everything was possible at the moment.

Thankfully, he didn’t. Thankfully, for your fragile and oh-so-unstable emotional state, he didn’t. And at the same time, you hoped, wished, _craved_ for him to just be…

Reckless enough to jump over the hatred of _decades_ between two clans who killed each other while wearing a happy smile on their lips.

Suddenly, your skin felt too tight. _Everything _felt too tight. Your skin, your clothes, the air pressure around you; everything except the arm Madara had still slung over your shoulder. You had to get away from him. This game, this little challenge you had going on, it was too dangerous to keep it going. For your sake, for the Senju Clan’s sake, hell. Even for Madara’s sake, as stupid and dumb and idiotic as it was.

A Senju and Madara? Laughable.

With a shrug, you got rid of the nice warmth draped over your shoulders. When Madara snorted into your ear, you glared at him, followed by a low hiss, pressed out between clenched teeth and barely pulled back lips to fake a smile. “Fine, it’s fine! You win.”

He leaned in as well, his mouth just a few inches away from your ear. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“You know exactly what I mean!”

“No, not really.”

“You win, you fucking win, Uchiha! What more could you want from me!?”

The last words came out louder than intended. Instantly, the merry atmosphere around you seemed to freeze over. Smiles turned into little frowns, frowns turned into grim certainty and grim certainty turned into raised hackles and slightly raised defenses. Gone were the smiles, the peace, the goddamn safety your life depended on.

You already saw your life slipping away right in front of your eyes, but your shinobi instincts kicked in. With a dramatic gasp which would put the greatest travelling showmen and -women to shame, you raised your hands to your face, managing to blush like you were a clueless maiden who just heard her first inappropriate joke.

“We can’t do that out here in the open!” you whisper-yelled, “We can’t—! Not in front of the children!”

Instantly, the tense air loosened up, the adults were laughing and shaking their heads at the antics of the two lovebirds and the crazy ideas their clan leader apparently had when it came to his betrothed and their… intimate actions inside and outside of the bedroom.

Meanwhile, Madara flushed to the shade of overripe strawberries. Spluttering and blubbering, he looked around for some kind of support from his clan, but they all seemed to be accepting of your performance as the blushing, shy maiden.

_So, the old ass councilman took my warning to heart._

Your warnings. The warnings Madara and you together issued, spat right into that councilman’s face. Together, as a unit, strong and fierce and invincible by such feeble concerns such as betrayal and concerns of the elders. Just another lie told and acted out to protect yourself. And yet, the lie caught up to you, teasing you with the possibility…

Thankfully, Madara seemed to either forget or ignore the earlier discussion. Still red in the face and hair ever so slightly wilder than usual, he reached once more for your head and plastered himself to your side. Apparently, he had now a goal in mind in comparison to the earlier aimless drifting around the clan compounds. Unerringly, he started to drag you through the alleys and streets, not caring that you were mumbling about “Damn careless bastard,”, “Why are we hurrying around now?” or “Would it kill you to actually tell me which new crazy thought is going around in your otherwise empty brain that it seems to rattle your mind so much?”

Madara, in his typically grumpy and silent style, didn’t answer a single question. Not even his grip onto your hand eased up once, no matter how far the two of you walked. Past the small food stands, past the gossiping people loitering around the paths, past the watchful eyes of one or two elderly people who looked like they had eaten an entire lemon when their small, wrinkle-rimmed eyes spotted you, right up to another small stand. This one was manned by a middle-aged woman, dressed in practical garden-clothes. Her long, beautiful black hair was bound into a simple braid hanging over her shoulder and when you spotted Aimi nearby, running up with lily-white daisies in her hands, you could see the similarities in the child’s and this woman’s face.

Like mother, like daughter, huh?

Madara seemed to know the woman very well. With a court nod, he greeted her. In typical Uchiha-grumpiness, she also nodded back, before throwing a stern glare at your entangled hands. Gods, you really wanted to pull back from Madara at this very moment. Another disapproving glance from her, before she only clicked her tongue and sat back onto a small stool behind the counter of the stall.

And oh, the stall. Unlike before, this stall seemed to be made of flowers of all kinds. Colorful little daisies in red, white and some even in a shiny blue; all kinds of herbs used for medicine and cooking; the sharp blossoms of sword lilies and the bright orange of tiger lilies. And so many, many more; more flowers than you could ever possibly hope to learn to recognize.

Madara signed some quick works to Aimi’s mother, who nodded again before her own fingers danced like butterflies through the air. Even though your own understanding of the more extensive sign language civilians with impaired hearing was rudimental at best, you understood clearly the rude wording she used.

Something along the lines of: “What is the damned Senju-devil doing here?”

Obviously, you eased the original swears you were indeed able to understand a bit. Alright, _a lot_.

Madara let go of your hand to start talking more animatedly with Aimi’s mother. Their hands were flying through the air, sharp and sure in their movements, while Aimi stepped closer, smile wide and her hair once more decorated with flowers.

“Hey,” you smiled at the girl, “good to see you again. Had a fun time with your friends?”

“Yeah! We played lots of stuff, then they helped me pick some flowers! My mom said I could soon start to help her properly with all the flowers we grow at home,” the girl waved over the nearby house which was noticeably more overgrown with vines than all the other houses around, right next to the stall, “so I’m trying to learn lots about them!”

“I bet you’ll do a great job helping your mother.”

“Really?” Aimi’s smile grew even wider, showing off a new gap between her teeth. Then, her eyes wandered off from your face to something by your side, and the happy sparkle shining out of them made you also turn around.

_Better check out what has her that excited._

A quick glance was all you needed to become just as enthralled. Aimi’s mother must have her own jutsu to work this fast, her hands choosing flowers and leaves to put together in an already beautiful bouquet, as incomplete as it still was. Madara stood right in front of her, his dark eyes fixated on the hands of the woman, arms crossed in front of his chest.

You hadn’t even noticed you stepped closer until you bumped into Madara’s side, hands reaching up to curl into the folds of his sleeve. “Madara…?”

He grunted, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge your presence.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“I mean, what did you tell her?”

“As much truth as I can.”

“That means…”

“You’re trying to help Izuna and don’t want to fulfil the rites before you came to a solution.”

_Oh._ So, he didn’t say anything unnecessary. Good. You were for once stunned into silence, following the routine of Aimi’s mother as she assembled the flowers further. Again, a beautiful bouquet, soft petals of cherry blossoms peeking out between soft green fern leaves and a single white rose sitting in the middle of it. Nothing big, almost delicate, and yet incredibly gorgeous in its execution and color scheme.

Aimi’s mother threw another glance at you, before reaching under the counter. You tensed for a split second, only to breathe out when her hands emerged again with a simple thread. She bound the bouquet together, adjusted one, two cherry blossoms until the bouquet spread like a painting out in front of her. Then, the grumpy woman cradled the flowers to her chest like a newborn baby, only to gesture to you with a crook of a finger.

To say you were flabbergasted would be an understatement. “For me?” you asked.

The eyeroll which followed nearly split her face in half, but she nodded. Still stunned, you stepped closer and accepted the bouquet with slightly shaking fingers and probably with eyes bigger than plates.

A little cough by your left side caught your attention. Madara didn’t look into your direction, just continued to stare straight ahead at the wall of Aimi’s house, but there was also a slight sheen of red tinging his cheeks which couldn’t be hidden, no matter how he “accidentally” tried to hide it behind his hair.

“I noticed that some of my earlier words and some of my actions were… uncomfortable for you,” he started off, whispering these into your direction while Aimi’s mother casually turned around to arrange some flowers anew, “and I feel sorry for that. Accept these flowers if you want. Or not, I don’t care.”

Madara gifted you flowers. He, the grumpy and mean and absolutely braindead fool he was, had given you flowers because he felt guilty about something he was only partly responsible for. Scratch that, your feelings and the unwanted tingles were at fault, Madara had no idea what exactly you were struggling with.

No one had ever given you flowers before. Sure, you noticed some other girls and women prancing around and showing off flowers they were given by their different suitors, so you knew about the implications. Even the few admirers which had set their eyes on you never thought of giving you flowers. Only kunai, shuriken, other weapons were gifted to you in hopes to catch your attention.

Gently, you caressed the cherry blossoms. Soft, little petals, cute and beautiful and more than you could’ve ever asked for. Thus, the following actions you showed to Madara were also a surprise to yourself.

In a gentle display of trust, you leaned your temple against Madara’s shoulder. His heat was immediately permeating the air, pressed insistently against your temple. You could feel his muscles twitch, looked up to smile into his stupefied expression, his dark eyes wide and clearly stunned.

“Thank you,” your own smile was honest and missing any kind of irony or sarcasm, “for the flowers. I also have to apologize. My behavior was too rash, too loud and I nearly lost my composure. The only chance to overcome that situation was to humiliate you and that also wasn’t right, when I was the one getting myself in that situation in the first place.”

Again, Madara looked away. More blush creeped over his face, tainted the bridge of his nose, his cheeks and his forehead. “No worries there,” he mumbled, still not able to look at you, “It’s forgiven and forgotten.”

His sudden shyness made you want to tease him, desperately. Before you could really think about it, you stood on your tip toes and pressed a little kiss to his cheek. Not much, just a sweet little gesture for him to mull over later on, but you could have never predicted your own reaction to _his _reaction.

Seeing the blush made you feel… happy. Giddy and excited, eager. Eager for more. Eager to touch him more, to kiss him on the cheek, to kiss him truly…

To all gods, you had it really bad. A Senju crushing on a Uchiha, of all things, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret your feelings in this very moment.

Not when you could feel his blush spreading under your fingertips and watched how some kind of unnamed emotion rose in his beautiful dark eyes, no. There was not an inkling of regret or hopelessness in your mind as you stood there, feeling for the first time like a true maiden; with a gift of her suitor in your arms and being able to show her feelings freely to the world.

Then, reality crashed into you. You were a _Senju_. Madara was the head of the _Uchiha_. You were only here to maybe cure his brother from the injury _you _caused, in a war between your two families which caused so much death and destruction it seemed to have taken over the entire shinobi world.

Your heart froze right then and there. This was wrong. So very, very wrong. Quickly, you took a step back, smiling like this was all a big, humongous joke (and in theory, it was; a joke of astronomical proportions), before turning around and waving over your shoulder.

“I think we should go back. I need to put these flowers away and I believe that I wasted enough time playing idly around.”

The sooner you could leave, the better it was for everyone involved. Izuna, who could finally die peacefully. Madara, who could say goodbye to his brother and grieve properly. And you… You could get away from your crush, get out of the close proximity, get far, far away and never look back again.

One way or the other, you would be going down and you preferred it to be your way.

~ X ~

A few days after your trip around the clan premises, the flowers heads’ were only slightly stilted as they stood there on your desk in the library, you stood in front of Madara’s own study, fidgeting from one food to the other and twirling a scroll embroidered with the Uzumaki-seal around your fingers. Luckily, you found this scroll in the deepest depths of the Uchiha library. And unluckily, you read the scroll, eager to find out if the writing held the answer to your burning questions.

Yes. Yes, it did. But for what price?

Though, you were also obliged to show it to Madara and ultimately leave the decision up to him. You would still argue against said stupid decision, of course, as the decision involved your willingness and participation more than anything else. _Above _anything else in this particular case.

Gently, you rapped your knuckles against the wood of the door. After a few seconds of tense silence, Madara’s gruff grunt signaled you that you could enter. On tip-toes, you entered the room which screamed of Madara’s ruggish-yet-soft-around-the-edges personality in all its furniture and decoration. Dark wood, if there were fabrics, they had the color of blood and shadows, just like the Uchiha crest, a lonely plant sat in the corner of the room and looked quite miserable, and on the otherwise cleaned-up table sat a clay figure which one of the children regularly playing here made for him.

Madara himself sat behind his desk, a pen twirling around his fingers as he studied with high concentration some papers right in front of him. He looked up as you entered the study, eyebrows raising at the obviously troubled expression you wore.

“What’s wrong?” He rose from his chair, half-crouched like he expected an attack. “Is Izuna…?”

“Oh gods, no. Still alive and kicking. You know, not literally, but… Well enough for his current state.” Weakly, you shrugged before raising the scroll and let it tumble onto the table. “However, I found this scroll from the Uzumaki-clan sitting in your library. Falsely marked, by the way.”

“My library is perfectly organized, but I will take your critic in mind.”

You sighed. “As fun as it would be to argue against that, this scroll is more important at the moment.” With a bad feeling churning in your stomach, you watched how Madara picked up the scroll and how his eyes flew over the first lines. “This scroll describes several seals of the Uzumaki-clan and also the ones used to probably create my dagger, but in this scroll they are written down as grey, untested theory and not as a fact. Thus, I believe we shouldn’t get too excited about this and the mere _theory_ behind this—!”

“Here.” He tapped the pen to one of the lines and the churning in your stomach grew worse. “Here, it states that finding a single soul is possible by having something to anchor his soul back into his body, such as a favorite weapon or cloth or whatever, while the bearer also needs an anchor to not get lost inside the seal holding the souls themselves.”

“Read further.” You nearly choked the words out, gripping with fearful strength into the handle of your dagger dangling by your side. Gods, you weren’t worried about losing your soul inside the dagger, not even worried about not finding Izuna’s soul. You were more worried…

“I don’t see where the problem is.” Madara lowered the scroll to the desk, eyebrows wrinkled and hair bristling. “That unholy piece of metal should be destroyed anyway. If it really gets destroyed in the process like it’s described here, then just for the better.”

Just the answer you expected. Pain flashed through your jaw as you clenched your teeth. “This _unholy piece of metal_ is just my weapon, my family heirloom. In no way I will sacrifice this for _your_ brother.”

“Of course, you will.” And just like that, Madara sat back down into his chair and went back to reading his oh-so-precious papers. Like he just decided over you when there was nothing to decide over.

“The fuck I will,” you hissed back, “the fuck I will sacrifice my weapon! The fuck I will sacrifice my fighting style, my being as a shinobi! That’s ridiculous!”

“Hashirama ordered you to do everything in your power to fix this issue.” He didn’t even look up from the paperwork. “This is within your power. I don’t see a problem.”

The churn in your stomach changed into acid. Boiling upwards, right up into your throat. “You don’t even realize what that would mean for me, right?”

Finally, Madara looked up. His dark eyes met yours, eyebrows still creased and wrinkled together, but not one bit worried about your rejection. You pressed onward, your jaw still hurting and your fingers clamped around the handle of your dagger. “You don’t even… You never thought about it for a second. It would mean that my very being as a shinobi would be destroyed! All my fighting techniques, all the years of training, all the efforts would be wasted! If the roles were reversed, would you do it? If it was my brother on his deathbed, if it would be your existence as a shinobi on the line, would _you_ sacrifice that all for a Senju?”

His silence was answer enough.

Grim satisfaction spread through your body. That had to be it, right? With that bitter taste on your tongue, your heart feeling heavy like a ton of bricks were weighing down on it, with tears threatening to stand in your eyes? It had to be grim satisfaction, because any other emotion would be devastating.

Turning away, you nodded while the bitter… _satisfaction _coated your tongue. “Thought so too. If you excuse me, I’m going to pack my bags now, as there’s nothing left for me to do.”

Madara cursed in your back. A chair screeched over the wooden grounds and hasty steps followed, while you couldn’t differ between left and right due to the (happy, they were happy!) tears burning in your eyes.

“Fuck, Senju! This isn’t about you, this is—!”

“Why the fuck,” you hissed, still storming down the hallway to your room, “should I make a sacrifice? Why should I be the only one to make a sacrifice in this scenario? Because you’re not giving up anything, Hashirama doesn’t give up anything, but I have to because it’s my supposed duty? _Fuck duty_, if duty means I have to sacrifice myself to save a silly dream of a naïve man, then fuck peace! Fuck Hashirama, fuck you for even suggesting that I have to—!”

His hands closed around your wrist. With a jerk, you came to a halt, wrist hurting from the force of his grip and heart aching from the anger sparking in his eyes. “Your weapon is nothing in comparison to Hashirama’s and my dream to finally salvage peace between our families. Are you really willing to sacrifice the chance for the next generation to find peace?”

“Fuck the next generation! What about me? Why do I always have to be like Hashirama and be generous? I want to be selfish; I want the peace myself!”

“We could have the peace for ourselves if you just would—!”

You snorted and you would’ve thrown your hands upwards if not for Madara’s steel-like grip. “Peace? Please, like that will be possible. It’s a stupid child’s dream, just like you said. There will always be some councilmembers who will argue against you two, who will use your youth and inexperience to underline how stupid peace would between our two clans! It’s impossible!”

Madara wasn’t half as mad as you expected him to be. For his usual behavior, he was frighteningly calm; eyes set on your face and muscles at ease. Only the grip of his hands betrayed the turmoil going on inside his mind. Not even his voice showed a hint of his feelings, while your own overturned itself in your shouting and hissing.

“For the first time in decades, both clan leaders aren’t both set in their ways. We share a dream of peace and we’re young enough to have the energy to fight back, while being old enough to know the horrors of war firsthand. Your arguments are invalid.”

“But my feelings aren’t! The feelings of the dead ones aren’t! The feelings and resentment of the people who mourned loved ones aren’t!”

“So, you prefer war over peace, after all?” His grip around your wrist tightened. “Children dying? Families being ripped apart? Continued blood spill just for the sake of your family heirloom?”

You were so close to claw his fucking eyes out. “You dumb fucking idiot! You still don’t understand! This dagger is my Kekkei Genkai, the closest thing I will ever get! To be on a similar level like Hashirama, Tobirama and you, I have to keep it, no matter what it takes! It’s the equivalent of me asking you to sacrifice your Sharingan, you imbecile!”

Finally, that got a reaction out of him. Hair bristling, teeth bared, he pushed forward. Backed you into the nearby wall, caged you with his entire being, presence and body.

“Don’t you dare to insinuate I wouldn’t sacrifice my eyes for peace; for Izuna no less! He’s my brother and I would do _anything_ for him. And if it will be to force you into submission, so be it!”

“Then _fucking_ fight me!” With a twist of your entire body, you broke the grip on your wrist. “Fight me into submission, because before I will give up on my—!”

You couldn’t end your sentence. Couldn’t lay out in how many ways Madara could fuck himself, couldn’t specify how much you didn’t care about the insubordination or Hashirama’s disappointment in you if you would come back to the clan without the desired results.

Because Madara kissed you. Kissed you with an open mouth, kissed you with the feverish, desperate wish to shut you up, kissed you with all of his fiery being.

And you…

Melted against him in your eagerness to respond. Your eyes fluttered shut, unwilling to stay open and unable to not give in to the temptation of allowing yourself of what you dreamed of for a while now. Your anger, your burrowed emotions, the suppressed crush you had on him, it all bubbled to the surface and flowed into the kiss. Your teeth sunk into the flesh of his lips and caused Madara to suck in a sharp gasp, before a growl vibrated between you. More force and power followed, his hands rising to cup your face ever so gently. A night and day difference to his kiss, still ever so angry and hot and sharp, burning you down and building you up every second it went on.

Your own hands flew up to Madara’s shoulders, your fingers twisting into strands of his hair. A moan grew in your throat and yet came only out as a whimper when his gentle hold on your face twisted; turned into a more controlling grip to control the kiss, control _you_.

You couldn’t let that stand. Another bite, nearly drawing blood, then you arched into him, the craving, wanting mess you thought you always had been on the inside. Gods, you wanted Madara for all what it was worth. All what he was and what he would be. You wanted to hold it, capture it, never let it go. You wanted to be incredibly…

_Selfish_.

Reality crashed into you. He was the head of the Uchiha, you were a Senju, this was all a lie, you were _angry_ at him for even suggesting to sacrifice your weapon, your _being _as a shinobi, you hated Madara, you hated, hated, hated—!

You didn’t hate him. You couldn’t. It was something entirely different than hate. Something warmer and softer, fierce and gentle at the same time, burning bright like a hay fire. It made you tingle and want and _crave_; crave for something you didn’t completely understand yourself but still knew you never experienced this way too mighty emotion before.

It was dangerous. It was addicting. Gods, it had to stop.

One second, you were still kissing Madara with all the pent-up emotion you harbored for him, hands tangled in his hair and body arching into him to feel more. The next, you pushed him off, breath heavy and lips still tingling from the _intrusion_, the assault you were just subjected to.

Your hands laid on his chest and you quickly dropped them as you noticed how you wanted to linger, feel the muscles contract beneath your fingertips, or even worse, drag him back into another, longer kiss. “Why did you do that?”

Your voice was nothing but a breathy echo. Hollow, a little girl close to tears, not a strong kunoichi able to kill everyone with a crook of her fingers. Gods, you hated Madara for this, hated, hated, _hated_ him for making you this weak and pliable.

And yet, you couldn’t fully hate him. Not when he had no idea what was going on inside of your heart.

“Why,” you spoke up again, swallowed, only to shake your head, “why did you do that? Why would you even think that this would work?”

No answer. Always no answer, to any of your questions. Madara just stared at you, his sharp features showing nothing. No fear, no joy, no anger, just blank controlled space where human emotions were supposed to be.

“No answer?” A bitter laugh billowed out of your chest. It rang in the air, stung on your tongue and bit your lips. “Of course. Of fucking course. Because you probably didn’t even think this through, not one bit! Like usual, you prove yourself to be a goddamn asshole.”

That pulled a reaction out of him. With a snarl, Madara wiped his head backwards, eyes glaring and the still very kissable mouth pulled into a low snarl. “I did think this through.”

“For how long? A second? Two? Certainly not longer than that!”

“One or two seconds ago you didn’t seem to mind.”

“I was _acting_. Little did I know you get off on pushing your advances on prisoners.”

You spat the lie into his face, knowing it would hurt his pride and honor more than anything. And yes, it worked. Worked way better than intended.

“You,” Madara roared to life, all fiery determination and rightful anger, “you have no sense of what is right and wrong! You simply refuse to look ahead and see the consequences of your actions as what they are or could be! You push away a chance for peace just because you’re scared of what it will do to you and you personally instead of seeing it as a greater good and changing with the times! You’re the very epitome of why we can’t live in peace; indoctrinated by your family to hold hate and blood spill higher in regard than peace.”

“War will never change! We will never change! People never change!”

“And that is the only reason for you to not even try anymore?”

You couldn’t answer that question without stumbling over your own tongue. For a second, you tried; tried to find the words which surely would prove Madara otherwise. That you weren’t hopeless, that you weren’t scared, that you didn’t stop believing in the good of the people. But there were no words to prove that.

Mercilessly, Madara continued to take your entire being apart, revealing more layers of yourself than you ever wanted to discover and revealing how much exactly he watched and noticed you over the last weeks. “You act fierce and like you don’t care what the people say, yet you nearly cry when faced in private with the rumors. You like soft things, gentle words, despite your harsh attitude, you blush when being complimented or gifted flowers. You’re scared; always scared people would find out about that.” To your disbelief, his expression softened, the harsh tug around his mouth vanished, only to be replaced by a little lift of his lips. He raised his hand to reach for a strand of your hair, but stopped before he could actually touch you in any way. His eyes searched for yours, all unbearably warm and brimming with tenderness you couldn’t stand. “No matter what you try to tell yourself, you have feelings for me. And you’re just too scared to act on them because you still search for the unspoken approval of your family which you probably already have.”

No air. There was no air left in your lungs. There was no air around you, so close to Madara you couldn’t breathe in without also inhaling the cinder, the smoke and ash and sandalwood hanging around him like miasma. You needed to get away, away from Madara, away from the Uchiha.

Not one word dropped from your mouth as you pushed him away. Not one word of explanation fell as you ran outside, your heart beating so hard it felt like it would jump into your throat. Not one word rolled off your tongue as you hid yourself in the very back of the wide garden, curled up in the dying sunlight of the day and tried not to break into tears. It was useless though. Hot streaks burned down your cheeks as you muffled your sobs in the sleeve of your shirt. You had no idea why Madara’s words stung so much. You had no…

_He made fun of my feelings. He basically laughed into my face while telling me he knew all about them all along. He knew and probably laughed about me and my foolish girlish hopes in his thoughts while gifting me flowers and holding hands._

_Gods, what am I supposed to do now?_

You didn’t emerge from the garden until the night fell and hid your motions from the all-seeing eyes of the clan or, even worse, Madara. With your eyes still reddened and face slightly swollen, you sneaked back into the house. Not one wooden board creaked beneath your feet as you wandered down the hallway towards the stairs. Though, at the door leading inside Izuna’s room, you paused.

You hated the Uchiha. Always hated them. They were the enemy, they killed your brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles. They stole, lied, killed and burned down, only to leave nothing behind.

And yet… You couldn’t muster the flames of a few weeks ago anymore. Couldn’t hate them like you used to. Your hatred shrank because you had to realize that they weren’t the demons you painted them to be. They also lost people; loved family members and friends. They were also suffering from the war going on. They tried to survive and suffered all the same with all the stubborn pride their blood could muster.

The Uchiha weren’t demons. Just like the Senju, they were human and you simply couldn’t unsee or overlook this fact.

Missions would be impossible. Fighting on the battlefield, impossible. Killing one of the people you got to know, saw their fears and laughter, saw their worries and experienced their stubborn will to keep on fighting? Impossible, not without the all-compassing, overwhelming guilt feasting on your very soul.

You snorted. Souls. Souls only got you into this mess. Izuna’s soul, yet to be found, missing in the endless realm of the dagger you still carried by your side. Gently, your fingertips felt for the little edges and nooks in the handle of the old leather. You knew any of these with your heart, knew of their origin and could name the battles you fought with it in your sleep. And yet… You didn’t trust the dagger anymore. You always thought the death of your enemies would be painless, quick, merciful. Instead, you subjected them to the endless horror of becoming a living, breathing corpse, unable to feel, think or speak.

_This weapon,_ you gripped the handle tighter, _this weapon is inhumane. I thought I was better than my enemies while dooming countless of people. I’m not on the moral high ground, I’m at the very bottom and don’t deserve to be here, in the very midst of the clan I hunted the most._

This dagger though… It defined your very being as a shinobi. You were known for it, feared and celebrated. There was no way you would ever recover from losing your dagger.

_But,_ your brain chimed in, _my dagger doesn’t completely define me. I’m quick on my feet, I know how to set traps, with the new knowledge of seals I can orientate myself into another direction. I’m lithe and nimble and strong. My heirloom doesn’t define me as neither a human nor a shinobi._

A last, deep sigh when you realized what you were about to do, then you squared your shoulders and slid the door leading into Izuna’s door open.

_Besides, it will be great to see Madara’s stupid face when I tell him I changed my mind. That I can finally leave him behind and go back to my family._

Strangely enough, the usually calming thought pierced through the haze of dull determination. A little smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, only to die just as fast as you kneeled down beside Izuna’s body.

Back when you came to the Uchiha, slung over Madara’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes and screaming your brain out, you had no idea how much it would actually hurt you to leave again.

~ X ~

The sun started to rise when you finally stumbled out of Izuna’s room. Your knees hurt from kneeling for such a long time, your fingers were shaking and the hunger you felt could’ve bested an entire squad of shinobi. Your tongue stuck to the ceiling of your mouth, too dry and not used for such a long time that you could barely say anything when Madara climbed down the stairs right in front of you.

Even in his sleep-rumbled state, Madara’s sight made your heart ache in your yearning to touch him. It was so unfair, how you were the only one suffering from these stupid, too mighty emotions while he was none the wiser.

You weren’t aware of the tears dwelling in your eyes, but when you drew a shuddering breath in to press out the last words Madara would ever hear from you, they came out flat and weak, laced with the telltale wetness running down your face and drying in the neckline of your clothes.

“I hope you’re happy now. Your brother asked for you.”

Without caring in the slightest for his rambled demand to know what was going on, you left the house. Not looking back, your eyes stubbornly set on the path right in front of you, you walked away, your heart pounding with the force of the earth moving.

Just away, away, away from the torturous feeling of being in love with Madara; a love which burned bright and destroyed everything you ever was and ever would be like a goddamn wildfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proofread by Chisie! <3 Thank you so much for all your hard work!
> 
> And maybe some of you noticed, but there's now fanart accompanying this little piece of fanfiction. In Chapter 3, [IntellectualArtDump](https://intellectualartdump.tumblr.com/post/612594113240530944/alternate-versions-of-the-flat-color-sketch) AKA TheIntellectualWeeb, who is funnily enough also the requester of this fic, did a pretty good job in displaying the first softness between Madara and the MC. I won the first prize of their 200 Follower Raffle and decided to go with some fanart of their request (I thought it was funny ^^''). I hope you guys like it just as much as I do! :D


	5. Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After you returned from the Uchiha Clan, you expect nothing from Madara. However, when a letter for Hashirama arrives with the offer of peace negotiations, you can't help but be suspicious of his intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... It took only years to get this chapter out >-< Sorry for the long wait. But - to the surprise of no one - I can announce now that there will be two more chapters. One of them will be NSFW, so... yeah... Maybe that makes up a tiny bit for the long wait >-<
> 
> Again guys, sorry for that T^T Not my intention to leave you all waiting.

Coming home was—at the same time—easier and harder than you expected.

Easier because no one really questioned your sudden appearance at the dawn of a new day, dressed into clothes with the Uchiha crest proudly embroidered onto every single piece and with a haunted look in your eyes.

Harder because no matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, no matter what, you were always, goddamned always reminded of Madara.

—while you listened to the children playing and training right outside your window; while you ate together with your parents in the seclusion of your home; while you laid awake at night and tried to fall asleep. It was truly maddening; not being able to just stop the heartache at will. Yes indeed, the heartache. The pain breaking your heart into little pieces, each shard digging into your flesh and digging deeper with every breath you took. The longing and yearning for Madara’s insufferable presence, the well-known bickering and name-calling, the damned comfortable silence and his rather easy-on-the-eyes features.

A Senju falling hard and fast for a Uchiha. So hard you couldn’t imagine ever feeling that way for another person ever again.

Probably, the most tragic thing of this tragedy was that you would never see him again. As a friend, that is. As an enemy, you would probably encounter him more than enough in the foreseeable future, again and again on the battlefield. Catching a glimpse of the Uchiha red and the midnight-black hair through smoke and screams of death and near-death. No more bickering, no more teasing. Just the war—with its bloodshed and pain and death.

You curled up tighter in your blankets, the soothing softness bunched up in front of your torso. It wasn’t enough. With longing in your chest, you rolled onto your other side, only to be faced with a quite tempting opportunity.

Your stuffed animals, beloved companions in your childhood. Long abandoned and banished upon the highest shelf of your wardrobe, especially your very favorite stuffed dog seemed to call out to you, promising comfort and softness and protection from your own dark, hopeless thoughts.

After a few more minutes laying awake and contemplating your options, you scoffed to yourself.

No one would ever find out what you were about to do. No one would ever judge you for it. So, you carefully got up, sneaked over to the wardrobe and fished for the stuffed animal. After a few moments, you were back curled up underneath your blanket, mind soothed a bit by the presence of your well-loved and worn-out companion. It felt nice to cradle something while trying to drift off to sleep, and this time, you actually managed to fall asleep before the sun rose again on the sky.

You were again woken up by the thunderous opening of your door and the overly cheerful voice of your mother.

“Good morning, my dear daughter! My, what a beautiful day it is today!”

You groaned as her steps continued to stomp around the room, going over to the window where the curtains had been pulled tightly shut. Automatically, you hissed as the slightest bit of sunlight hit your face and pulled deeper back under your blankets, stuffed toy still pressed to your chest.

When you opened your eyes, you could see the rainy, grey sky and hear the first torrents of an incoming storm rolling in. Despite the obvious lie your mother told you to get you out of bed, she seemed way too happy to see you, sleep-rumpled and forehead wrinkled in your obvious confusion.

You could sense the answer to her happiness on the horizon, but hoped it wasn’t what you thought it was.

She clasped her hands together in a perfect display how a woman should behave at any time; elegant and perfect, despite her casual clothing and the messy bun tickling the base of her neck. “You won’t believe it, but I have three incredible meetings with wonderful young men and two with beautiful women arranged for you! All of them would be great choices from other clans. Nara, Hyuuga, Akimichi, Yamanaka, Inuzuka, all of them would like to have a meeting with you! Most of them will ask about your imprisonment with the Uchiha, but if I have to use that unfortunate event to reel them in, I will do that.”

“Thanks, mother,” you grumped out.

Unfortunately, your mother didn’t quite catch the hint of sarcasm in your voice. “Ah, no honey. I’m doing this for your happiness. After what you went through by the hand of these Uchiha devils—!”

“Don’t call them devils.”

“The Uchiha’s, then. No matter what you call them, I don’t even want to imagine what they have done to you.”

Saying nothing was better than trying to convince your mother otherwise. The hatred for the Uchiha ran too deep in the rest of the clan. No matter how many times you said that you hadn’t been imprisoned by the Uchiha on one of your lonely training sessions, the clan as a whole didn’t listen; just made up a truth which was convenient for themselves and their own view of things.

But could you really blame them? After all, it had been your own view just a few weeks ago as well.

After all, peace was a hopeless dream. Nothing would change these stubborn old people in your clan, nothing would ever change the view of the Uchiha on the Senju. It was absolutely hopeless to even think it could ever be possible—!

You couldn’t even finish that depressing thought. Hasty steps echoed through the hallway right outside, only for your father to storm into your room, hair disheveled and clothes hanging off his shoulders like he pulled them on in great haste.

“The… Hashirama-sama…” Your father looked like he had seen a ghost. Again, he breathed in, tried to calm himself, but there was still the sheer disbelief in his expression which told you something truly outrageous had happened. “There was a… A letter from… from the Uchiha! It’s for… for peace negotiations, apparently!”

The world seemed to freeze for a second. Even the agitated voices of your mother and father drowned out in the white noise rushing through your brain.

Peace negotiations. A letter from Uchiha. Peace. A peace offering from the Uchiha.

Madara kept his word.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet. Not even the hands reaching out to you could stop you as you stumbled out of your room, still in your loose sleeping clothing and panicked frenzy taking over your mind. You had to know it was true. You absolutely had to know.

The way to Hashirama’s house blurred in your mind, though the overall buzz around the premises couldn’t be ignored. People were up early, sticking their heads together and huddled in whispers. Nervousness had a tight grip on the Senju clan grounds, and that in itself already said more than enough that at least the news your father announced were partly true.

“Is it true?” Without any preamble, you stormed into Hashirama’s house. “Has there been a letter from the Uchiha?”

“I told you, news travel fast.” Tobirama raised merely an eyebrow at your more-than-casual attire —the bare feet and sleep-tousled hair— before going back to his stack of paperwork.

In comparison, Hashirama seemed a lot happier to see you, despite your tone and the wild look in your eyes. He jumped up from his seat at the low table where he had worked alongside his brother at some highly official looking documents. “(Y/N)! Yes, indeed! It was a letter from Madara and it’s all thanks to you!”

You had no time to decline or flee. One second, Hashirama was a few feet away, the next, his big, strong arms were wrapped around your middle and he lifted you up to swing you around like an adult would swing around a little child. He could do that. That didn’t mean you liked his overly enthusiastic behavior.

“This brick-headed idiot really proposed a peace treaty?” You couldn’t believe that. You really couldn’t, not with Madara being… well, Madara!

Of course, he would stay true to his promise. For him, it’s about honor and pride and all that pompous shit.

Tobirama’s nod could be described as passively-aggressive or solemnly-regretful. It was always hard to tell with him. Though, measured at the sharpness of his handwriting and the force he used to write the letters, you would lean more towards the first option. While you watched him out of the corner of your vision, the usually so careful and detail-loving brother spilled a tiny bit of ink over the papers he was working on and didn’t even attempt cleaning the mess up.

Or redoing the entire paper, that is.

Strange times, indeed.

Hashirama continued to blabber on while you were only listening with one ear. “And we have to do all kinds of things beforehand! We have to send invitations to all the other clans around, make sure we find neutral ground to hold the meeting of the clan’s representatives on, plan our travel, set up an escort and all this organizational stuff!”

“Don’t forget about the beginnings of laws, common ground between our clans, possible fighting points and the very likely possibility of an ambush or surprise attack.” Tobi pointed out. Still holding onto his quill with an iron grip, he finished his writing with an especially hard and sharp flick of his wrist. The paper slightly tore, the small sound like a distant earthquake in the air, before the white-haired teen turned to the next paper and started to scribble anew. “We have to be prepared. For truly everything, Hashirama.”

“I agree with Tobi,” you finally were able to wiggle out of his tight hug, “we have to be careful. No matter what Madara proposed in his letter, you have to proceed with caution.”

“Aaah, I don’t think so! Madara will stand by his word, just trust me!”

“Trusting in an old friendship is way too much—!”

“But I don’t trust only in his friendship! See?” With a grand gesture, Hashirama stepped over to the table and pulled a swat of papers out of the still growing chaos. With one of his most obnoxious smiles, your absolutely moronic clan head pointed at the lines, written in the surprisingly neat handwriting Madara called his own.

“See?” Hashirama pushed the letter right into your face. “See, right here!”

“I can’t see shit when you wave it around like that!” You hissed at him as you tried to catch the letter. Only when he slowed down the tiniest bit, you were able to rip the letter out of his hands.

I, Madara Uchiha, head of the Uchiha, hereby officially request Hashirama Senju to get into further contact to plan a peace summit involving all the clans inhabiting the wider plains of the surrounding lands.

Lots and lots of political talk and phrases. The further you read, the more complicated and outlandish the sentences grew, until you weren’t even sure Madara had written these words himself. Far too complicated for him. However, the message and intent were clear: Madara wanted a peace summit with all surrounding clans present, and he wanted it now. Preferably yesterday.

So far, so good. You lowered the letter the tiniest bit, glaring over the very edges towards Hashirama. “You’re aware this will be hard work. To bring all the clans together without killing each other on sight.”

“Yeah.” Nevertheless, the happy-go-lucky idiot continued to beam like the sun itself. “I’m convinced we can do it, though!”

Peace. So close, just a few months of hard work and discussions away. Who were you kidding, it would take more than mere discussions to convince all the clans to join forces at one table. But it was there, a chance for peace between the clans. Real peace.

Maybe, Hashirama’s dream wasn’t that stupid after all.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Huh?”

With new hope burning brightly in your chest, you lowered the letter. “What do you need me to do? Contacting the clans? The Uzumaki might talk to me because of my father. Anything else?”

“But…” Hashirama’s forehead laid in deep wrinkles, as expressive as always. “But you never wanted to believe in my dream. The dream of a village where every—!”

“Every clan can live in peace, children can grow up without the blood spill, yeah, yeah.” With an eye roll and a heavy sigh, you turned around and crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s the point, though. I didn’t want to believe it because I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t. Can you understand that?”

If you would’ve dared to believe in a better future, you would’ve had to submit to the cruelty and darkness of the war, knowing your soiled hands reached for something they didn’t deserve. Now, it was a pleasant surprise amidst all the darkness. Finally, a spark of hope; a light you could chase with all your might, something to look forward to. Something worth fighting for.

Maybe it didn’t make sense. Hell, you yourself didn’t completely understand. The most important thing though was that finally, there was a little chance to stop the fighting for good.

And at least it gave you an excuse to avoid the marriage interviews your mother set up.

In a silent challenge, hair wild and still in your sleeping clothes, you raised your chin. “Well. Should I try to contact the Uzumaki or not?”

~ X ~

Months of using all the diplomatic knowledge your mother taught you. Months of arguing with the Uzumaki clan heads. Months of taking their demands, bringing them to the assigned diplomats of the Senju clan who were in contact with the other respective clans, working out a compromise, only to run back to the Uzumaki clan and listen to their rants about the compromise.

Months of all of these troubles and squabbling, the nagging and whining, the discussions and disgruntled agreement. All of that for this exact moment, when you stood behind Hashirama in the cold stone-colored room in the middle of the snowy Land of Iron, face unmoving and your heart only the tiniest bit jumping into your throat when Madara and his own escorts entered the wide hall with the round table.

All the other clans were already present. Inuzuka, Hyuuga, Uzumaki, Aburame, Hatake, The infamous Ino-Shika-Cho Alliance. Every bigger clan with a little bit of land and influence, but of course, the Uchiha had to be dramatic and arrived last so the entire attention was on them.

Only barely you could avoid snorting, but your eyes rolled nearly into the back of your head at the sight of Madara strutting around like he owned the place, in his fancy red armor and all his pompous glory.

Alright, maybe he didn’t strut per se. Maybe he just had this natural aura around him which made it appear like he was strutting, with all the confidence of an insanely strong person in a room of very powerful shinobi, who also knew he could win a direct battle with at least 99 percent of them.

Your spine straightened when his intense dark eyes fell on you. Otherwise, there was no visible reaction from both of you as he continued to walk over to his appointed chair, Izuna and one of the Uchiha clan elders behind them. Just another glance was sent your way before Madara settled down, his escorts taking place in his back.

(Your heart jumped with every little movement of his hair, single strands dangling around his neck and into his eyes.)

Gods, you hated him for making you feel like this. All tingly and nervous, hoping for a little glance while also trying to look like you couldn’t care less. Pretending to be over Madara while absolutely not being over him was so hard. Harder than any training you ever had, harder than admitting to yourself that you actually carried a soft spot for the Uchiha.

Even harder than admitting your view on the Uchiha had been wrong.

The thoughts and different clashing emotions whirling around inside your head troubled you to the point where you didn’t even notice the official start of the meeting. Though, you couldn’t ignore the tension in the air. Every time one of the clan heads moved ever so slightly, hell, a mere scratch of their nose was enough, the rest of the table would react like one of them had pulled out a kunai. A clear testament to the fears and deep running insecurities of the clans.

The only two who didn’t seem bothered by the tension were Hashirama and Madara. Both of them acted like they either didn’t care or didn’t notice; just went on with boring negotiations and clarifications of minor details no one but a true pedant would care about. However, these minor details would be important in the long run, and with that reminder fresh in your head, you forced yourself to turn away from your feelings and concentrated on the truly historical meeting of the clans.

For the very first time, the negotiations went surprisingly peaceful. Of course, there were some tense moments, especially in the first minutes and when the talks drifted dangerously close to past fights between the clans, thus edging dangerously close to already dead and buried loved ones.

Here, Hashirama’s true talents truly shone. His charisma could soothe the hottest of tempers, no matter how high and bright they flared, and his laugh boomed through the room in a way which would even pull the faces of the most battle-worn shinobi into a meek yet honest smile. There was no doubt in your mind most clans were here because of Hashirama and his conviction of making his dream reality.

There was also no doubt in your mind that most clans were there despite Madara’s presence. Or the Uchiha’s presence overall. Not only the Senju had an ongoing feud with the warmongering clan, after all, and their powerful Kekkei Genkai wasn’t even taken into account yet. All the clans around the table feared the Sharingan as only a handful knew how to effectively fight against it, inside and outside of battle.

This didn’t stop Madara though. He had to be aware of the hateful glances he received throughout the discussions whenever he opened his mouth to make even the smallest suggestion (smart suggestions on top of that). However, unlike the hot-tempered brute you got to know, this side of him represented the perfect clan leader who had been born and bred to lead his family. Calmly, he listened to different sides of a problem, provided insights from the outside if the topic didn’t directly involve him or his clan and made pointed, intelligent remarks when his involvement was needed.

It was infuriating how good he looked. All suave and confident, handsome and calm at the same time while he jotted some absent-minded notes down.

Damned bastard. Smartass. Such an asshole. How dare him. How am I supposed to get over this stupid silly crush tearing me apart when he’s just… like this?

His eyes met yours. Again, he caught you in the act of staring at him. Quickly, you looked away, trying to look like you hadn’t been staring at him and like he hadn’t suddenly locked eyes with you. Though, your own body betrayed you.

In the same moment you could feel his look grazing your body, you could feel how your face went red. Even when you desperately tried to will the furious blush down, your pleas and orders to your body didn’t work one bit.

The little smirk growing on his face was sign enough to know exactly what you had done.

Fuck him. Fucking self-centered smug asshole.

“…with that, we’re getting to another important point to ensure that a possible village will work out.” Hashirama cleared his throat and shuffled through some of his notes. Tobirama by his side did the same, almost in an exact rendition of his elder brother. Even though their appearances and behaviors couldn’t be more different, sometimes their blood relation and close relationship was unmistakable.

Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest. Yes, Hashirama told you what exactly he was planning to propose to the table of shinobi clans, and you just knew Madara would object to it. You even told him his proposition was insane and wouldn’t fly at all with the Uchiha, but Tobirama’s opinion on the matter obviously outweighed your own.

“To ensure a lasting connection between the clans,” Hashirama breathed once more in, “I propose that between the two biggest clans at the table, meaning my own clan and the Uchiha, there has to be a lasting bond. A marriage needs to happen, to ensure the peace treaty will be valued and held in high regards.”

This. No true Uchiha would ever accept this offer. They were all about romance and feelings and their little bridal kidnapping ritual. There was no way Madara would accept this insanity, just like the rest of his clan would never accept being part of such a soulless deal.

But to your eternal disbelief, Madara merely threw another glance at you before nodding along. “That sounds indeed like a sensible solution. Of course, both partners have to be chosen carefully and with hindsight to their compatibility. Besides, to really drive the point home that the Senju and Uchiha are aligned now in their goals, both clans should choose a person from their main family or someone close to the main family.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Who was this Madara, and where had he been when he ranted to you about romance, love and his disdain of political marriages and bonds?

But to your growing horror, he wasn’t even done yet. Another look into your direction, and the smile flashing over his face made you shudder in your sandals. “In fact, to show the willingness of the Uchiha to make this peace treaty work, I will propose myself as the Uchiha candidate for the marriage. However, I have high standards for a future spouse and I expect them to be considered,” he meant to say “obeyed” —he definitely meant “obeyed”— “while selecting your own candidate, Hashirama.”

The rest of the words drowned out in the white noise rushing through your ears. What was he planning? Because of course, Madara was planning something and you were certain you wouldn’t like the end result of whatever plan would play out. Probably right under your nose and you would only see what was happening when it was too late.

No way. You clenched your teeth. There was no way you would allow Madara to get away with his sinister plans, especially when it would endanger the plans for the village the clans were finally warming up to.

Madara was playing with Hashirama, with his hopes for a better future, with a united village. You couldn’t let that happen. And as the one who probably knew Madara best apart from Hashirama and were still able —despite your clouded, mixed up feelings— to see behind his façade, you would make sure to uncover whatever his messed-up plans were.

~ X ~

“What, in the name of all gods, are you thinking?”

You never imagined to ever speak with Madara again, not after that disastrous goodbye. However, if you ever would’ve done so, you certainly wouldn’t have thought of his roundabout fucking political marriage proposal or the cold way in which he proposed that stupid, dumb, incredibly fucked-up idea.

(There definitely would’ve been more breathless kisses, whispered apologies, more skin to skin contact in your secret fantasies. Definitely more kisses.)

Despite the deserved fury unleashing upon him, Madara didn’t even flinch. No, he just continued to pick at his documents, shuffled through them with the same energy as an old man going through his beloved collection of worthless scrolls. His ignorance kindled your anger to new, never-known, never-experienced heights.

“Answer me!” With your entire body behind it, you slammed your hands onto the desk. His papers flew around and crinkled beneath your palms. “Answer me, you stupid son of a—!”

“If you even attempt to finish that sentence,” finally, Madara looked up, his dark eyes brimming with the promise of the Sharingan, “and insult my mother, I’m not above eviscerating you right here on the very spot. Peace treaties be damned.”

A small part of you wanted to say “screw it” and fuck everything over, just to spite Madara and throw one more insult smack in his face. Though, the bigger (and more rational part) willed the crazy urge down to a faint echo in the back of your head.

“Fine,” you growled, “fucking… Fine. You’re a stupid fucking asshole, then.”

“That is debatable, but go off.”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“I don’t. You’re the one insulting me despite me not raising my voice, at all.”

He was speaking the truth and you hated him even more for it. Cussing him out in your mind was only a little bit satisfying, but you probably had to stick to that coping mechanism to remain in control. There were more important things to discuss.

“Why did you agree to Hashirama’s stupid idea?”

“I think it’s a perfectly sensible plan.”

“Bullshit. We both know the Uchiha as a whole,” you glared at Izuna, who sat innocently at the other side of the small table in the shadows of an alcove they used as a little retreat in the breaks of the peace treaty, “believe in feelings and marriage out of love. Accepting a soulless bond like a political, arranged marriage goes against everything your clan believes.”

Madara shrugged merely while still ruffling through his documents. “Beliefs can change.”

“Again, I call absolute and utter bullshit,” only when you slammed your hand onto the pile of files, his dark eyes finally met yours, “on you! Even the audacity to announce yourself as the member of the Uchiha to sacrifice yourself for the greater good!”

“And? Why do you care?”

Right. Right. Why did you even care? There was no reason—!

There was a very good reason. Though, you never would tell Madara. Not in a hundred years.

Your feathers were more than ruffled when you grit your teeth and hissed your words, glaring daggers und still forming wordless curses inside your mind. “I just know you’re planning something very stupid to make Hashirama’s plan fail! I just know it!”

That, however, disturbed his tranquility. Spitting like a cat, he jumped out of his chair, so fast that his body was merely a shadow before you found yourself face to face with the powerful shinobi. “Our plan! We had that idea, we planned this village together! This isn’t just Hashirama’s plan, it’s just as much mine as it’s his!”

Hook, line, and sinker. Of course, you knew it was their idea. And you knew how much Madara disliked being left out of this idea. His rivalry with Hashirama was just too great for his brain to follow even the simplest of thoughts. Especially useful when he tended to ask the really uncomfortable questions.

You were so close to smirking right into his face, but by a thread, you managed to continue scowling at him with all the disgust you could muster. “Fine! Your plan, then! That doesn’t explain though why you want your plan to fail that badly, if you even consider—!”

Madara growled. Unbidden memories popped into your brain as his lips curled into a wordless snarl. Memories of his lips on yours, how his teeth scratched against your tongue, how he had groaned and moaned…

Stop it.

“My clan will follow my word. Sure, they won’t like it, but they already bore one attempt with an unwilling Senju, so I’m sure they will bear it a second time.” He snapped, basically frothing from the mouth when you only raised a single eyebrow at his attics.

“Unwilling? I played my part well enough and kept my word, now keep your part of the agreement!”

“I am, you insufferable woman!”

“Then, why are you doing this? You would never betray your own beliefs like this, not when you could potentially lose the support of your clan despite what you’re saying, despite what you’re telling me! You’re playing some fucking game here and I want to know…”

Your mind raced around while you fought with Madara. Grasping for straws. Any answer he would give you would be half-lied at best and straight made-up at worst anyway, so what could be behind his sudden change in mind?

There’s literally nothing he could be angry at right now.

I did my part. I did my part even though it hurt me. Sacrificed my heirloom so he could get his brother back. And what do I get for that?

This fucking riddle to solve. Great.

Up close, you noticed some small changes in his face you didn’t notice while guarding Hashirama out of the shadows. Madara seemed a bit tired, some more wrinkles deepened the already-sharp lines of his face. His hair seemed to be even more unruly and untamed since the last time you had seen him. There was a very faint shadow of growing stubble along his jawline, just enough to possibly bite your lips if you would’ve dared to kiss him there.

If you would’ve dared to kiss him.

He shrugged and exchanged a short glance with Izuna, his earlier anger fading away like fog was chased by the sun. “If you can’t figure that out on your own, then I probably should rethink my peace offering. The Uchiha Clan doesn’t have the nerve to debate with imbeciles.”

“Whoever they select to be your bride—!”

“Oh, I’ve already chosen one.” His smirk made you want to scratch your own eyes out. “Or, to be even more precise: The circumstances already have chosen my bride for me, and I won’t oppose said choice.”

His words rolled like thunder in your head. Already? He already chose someone? How on earth was that possible? Madara knew no one in the Senju Clan fitting for that role. It had to be someone from the main family, or remotely close to them. Someone expendable as well. Someone with a certain pedigree if you will, someone who already knew and understood the customs of the Uchiha to an extent, someone who was knowledgeable in leading and aiding a clan. There was nobody unifying all the necessary traits in one body, no one except—!

Oh.

You could feel the color draining from your face as the realization washed over you. There was no one else meeting the requirements, the expectations and standards. Except for you. No one else but you.

“Aaah, she gets it now.” Izuna cackle almost made you wish you didn’t bring his soul back into his body. “Faster than I anticipated. I owe you some sweets, Nii-san.”

“Of course,” Madara’s smirk was no doubt filled with overbearing pride, “I didn’t expect anything else from my future partner.”

No way. There’s no way… But why would he joke or lie about this?

There is simply no reason for him to lie about this matter, if I think about it. Why is he doing this, then?

Maybe he just wanted to fuck with your mind? Make you doubt your own sanity while cackling about your antics? That could be a possibility, after all you pretty much left him so suddenly he didn’t even have the chance to throw a last pointed comment at your non-existent kissing skills at you.

That had to be it. Oh gods. Gods, heaven and everything below. It wasn’t about the peace negotiations. It wasn’t about Madara’s screwed sense of pride and honor. No, it was something much, much simpler than that. He wanted to get back at you, for leaving like you did. Sure, you healed his brother and kept your word, but the most important thing (in his mind) was, he didn’t get to have the last word. A final “Told you so,” a smug smile and a cockily raised eyebrow.

This entire farce was just a childish excuse to make you flustered and make fun of you. It was a miracle he didn’t mention your kiss or the fact that he knew you had feelings for him.

Petty revenge, nothing else.

“Really?” With a tired sigh, you rolled your eyes at him. “You’re trying to rile me up, now that you can’t go on my nerves any longer? You’re probably planning to pull out of that engagement anyway at the first possible chance. Grow the fuck up Uchiha. Your stupid, childish tricks don’t work on me anymore.”

Madara’s smug grin of triumph and certain victory fell more and more the longer you spoke. He also seemed to realize the truth of your words. Now that you knew about his schemes to get back at you, reassuring calmness chased away the hazy fog of anger and confusion. You were sure of what he was planning, thus he wouldn’t get one bit of satisfaction out of seeing you wither and writhe. You were sure. Soon, he would call off the engagement, and no one would be none the wiser about his reasons, except for you.

With a newfound swing in your step, all of the anger gone, you walked away from the Uchiha delegation. Like that, you missed the panic-filled look Madara threw at his brother who echoed the same panic and confusion right back in a single, soundlessly mouthed: “What the…?”

No, you didn’t notice these things. You were too busy preening at the victory you could now hold over Madara’s head, while at the same time, bitter disappointment coated your tongue at not being chosen for your own sake.

Possibly, a small, foolish part of you hoped for a little bit… That maybe, just maybe, Madara returned your feelings, but these hopes were born from nothing but girlish dream castles and were doomed to be destroyed by reality.

~ X ~

Miraculously, the peace negotiations went well after that little incident. All the clans shared the dislike of war and even with the little rivalries between the clans, Hashirama’s sunny and friendly demeanor made even the hardest of hotheads as docile as cuddly kittens. Together with Tobirama, who was even able to argue against the Hyuuga Clan leader until the older man gave up with a frustrated groan, you were already aware who would be elected to be the future leader of the village they all would build together.

Knowing Madara was merely playing childish games with you, you pushed the thought of him being engaged to a Senju (not me, definitely not me!) far, far away from you. Instead of worrying, you continued to help out Tobirama with every possible task you were able to.

Like that, you were totally unprepared for Hashirama to ambush you… like this.

Fall had come over the lands and the light started to fade faster, indicating summer’s end. Even the wind seemed to carry some kind of scent which hinted at the upcoming harder months of coldness, rain and recovery. You were working away in Tobirama’s unofficial office; a row of connected rooms staffed with low tables, cushions, different writing materials and nothing else, bent over a stack of documents with demands of the Uzumaki Clan when you could hear Hashirama’s telltale low humming in your back.

“Hashirama-sama. What can I do for you?” you asked while jotting down a few pointers for Tobirama. Then, with a low groan, you dropped your pencil and stretched with slow deliberation your wrist, working out the kinks and cramps of the overworked muscles.

The other hummed once more before coming to a stop right by your side. His eyes hastily read over your notes, the document you had spread out in front of you, only for them to settle on the side of your face. “Aah, (Y/N). Why so formal?”

“You’re the clan head. In my eyes, your father doesn’t have a say anymore. He’s old and senile, and even though the council hasn’t made a decision yet, they will soon announce you the official leader of the Senju.”

“He’s far away from what I would consider “senile”.”

“He was so close to marching to the peace negotiations to kill his enemies himself. You heard him say it. We all heard it.”

Hashirama sighed. A heavy sigh; telling much more about his internal struggle about the situation with his father than words could. “I… I will deal with that. Later. Now, there’s another point on my list I have to work on.”

“And what would that be?”

“The marriage between Senju and Uchiha.”

You couldn’t help it. A little snort freed itself from your mouth, but when Hashirama eyed you from the side, you merely shook your head. “What?”

“Nothing,” you instantly retorted.

“You’re laughing about such a serious matter.”

“Ah, no. Sorry… Just… Carry on, I—!” Another small giggle wrung itself from your lungs before you could stop it. You raised one hand towards Hashirama, while the other flew up to cover your smiling mouth. “Sorry, sorry. Go on, I swear I won’t laugh anymore.”

“I sure hope so,” he breathed in, shuffled on his feet, sighed once more, “This is a serious matter, after all.”

“Yes. Very, very serious.”

“Indeed. With Madara throwing his hand into the proverbial ring, we have to offer him a fitting partner he will accept. Someone of an educated background. Someone of high standing within our clan, favorably close to the main family. Someone—!”

Mirthlessly, your lips quirked upwards. “Me. Just say it. All the factors point at me.”

“Glad you understand so quickly.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

Hashirama’s voice didn’t betray one bit what he was thinking, even though you could very much imagine what exactly went through his head at your dry amusement. “Obviously, I want you to accept. Though, I can understand your inhibitions and doubts about this arrangement. It won’t be an easy feat by far, so I would understand—”

This fucker. Now, he used this pitying tone on you. Now, he had the audacity to act like you had a choice. Now, Hashirama acted like you two were still something akin to friends after he ordered you to do something you didn’t want to do for his own good, while now acting like he wouldn’t order you to pull with the marriage yet again.

You interrupted his rambling with a low growl, vibrating deep within your throat. “With all due respect, Hashirama-sama, but fuck you. Stop acting all goody two-shoes when we both know you will order me if I have any “inhibitions”, as you put it. Just do it like before,” a bitter taste spread on your tongue at the mere memory, “and order me around like a nice, obedient dog.”

“(Y/N)…”

Alone the sadness in his voice made you want to claw his eyes out. Just barely, you controlled yourself, tightened your jaw, before spitting out the words coating your tongue like sickly-sweet honey. “Besides, you don’t have to feed me sugary lies. I will do it. I will marry Madara or pretend to be surprised when he calls the entire thing off.”

That caught Hashirama’s attention. Instantly, he perked up, even more so than before when you called him out on his lies. “Wait? He’s not sincere?”

“Oh, he isn’t. He just pulls this crap so he can get back at me.”

“(Y/N), are you sure…?”

“Oh, I’m totally sure. No worries there, clan head,” you turned once more to your documents; an unspoken sign you were done with this talk and ultimately, also done with Hashirama, “I will stick to the agreement for as long as that dunce does.”

For you, that issue was solved with that. You would play along for as long as Madara did, because there was no way he would actually go through with actually marrying you. Including all the official rites and traditions of his clan he loved so much.

Hashirama didn’t question your resolve, just gave you another long, hard stare before walking out of the otherwise empty rooms. With a low sigh, you just turned around to your documents and necessary work which was way more important than Madara’s childish antics, and continued the task without thinking about the chance… the mere possibility…

No. No, there’s no way. Madara doesn’t have feelings for me. He just plays with me, like a cat plays with a mouse.

You nodded to yourself. Yeah, that was the truth and nothing would change that. Madara would retract his offer. He would offer someone else of his clan. Maybe Izuna, or another, less important member.

Yes. That… that would happen in the near future. For sure.

~ X ~

He didn’t call off the engagement in the near future. Even when he was officially named as your fiancé in front of your clan, he didn’t get the short end of the stick.

No. You received it. In a sense.

Right after you left the small ceremony, where Hashirama announced Madara as your betrothed to the main family and your parents and just closed the door of your family’s house behind you, you could feel the indignant fury of your mother in your back. For a moment, you considered jumping out of the next best window to avoid the upcoming confrontation, but your mother always had the uncanny ability to find you when you wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of earth. Better to face her now than later.

The door was shoved open in the moment you just turned around, still wearing the semi-formal shinobi uniform you wore to feel at least a little bit like your old self. Your mother stomped in, her typical brown Senju-hair just a few shades darker than Hashirama’s, a telling of her close blood connection to the main family. Her lips were pulled into a straight line, her brown eyes blinking in barely concealed frustration. Even her own very formal and colorful kimono billowed around her like the wings of a furious swan, while your father in his own dark clothes followed her like a second shadow.

“What was that all about?”

Even though your hands were trembling, you tried to look unbothered. With your chin tilted up, you challenged your mother, who probably had more than just a little bit to say about your sudden, unexpected engagement to a former sworn enemy of your clan. “In the wake of the ongoing peace negotiations, I was elected by Hashirama to be bonded to Madara Uchiha. This will be an opportunity for our two clans to overcome possibly decades of hatred and war. Anyway—!”

But your mother raised her hands, and to your infinite surprise, she cupped your face; cradled it in a tender embrace you hadn’t expected. Her eyes roamed over your features like you would leave and she would never see you again. “None of the traditional procedures were followed! Your suitor didn’t even attempt to reach out to me, not once up to now! Hashirama-sama didn’t inform me at all about his decision! And an Uchiha? Are you sure? Will they treat you right? Will Madara,” a sharp wrinkle appeared right over her left eyebrow, “Will he… Will he try to take advantage of you? I have no idea what Hashirama-sama is thinking! This is not the right way, and just when we got you back!”

Genuine concern and sadness at seeing you leave once more weren’t on the list of what you expected of your mother. Flabbergasted to the very core, you allowed your mother to dote and coddle you in the wings of her kimono, while she fretted and ranted on what went wrong overall in this very arrangement. “… This is insanity! When your father and I were promised to each other, there were precautions in place to ensure every party would be safe and sound! We had talks with each other; talks with our respective parents; our parents talked endlessly with each other! A marriage between two clans is always a fickle thing, and these traditions need to be met to ensure the safety of our children! Did he forget all of that? Was Hashirama-sama even taught the right ways? My poor, poor child! Being subjected to this ordeal... I’m sorry.”

“Wait… You’re not mad at me?”

Your mother recoiled like you hit her. “I’m not! Well, I am, but not at you. This isn’t your fault and even though my plans of seeing you married to a nice upstanding young man were partly destroyed doesn’t mean I can’t see further than my own nose. A bond between the Senju and Uchiha, as barbaric,” her delicate nose wrinkled up, “as they might be, will be fruitful in the long run, if the planned village of Hashirama-sama proves to be a success. But how it’s done at the moment, how Hashirama-sama goes about this right now is dangerous and idiotic and absolutely outrageous! I won’t allow him to use you like a disposable pawn in his little ring-around-the-rosy with the Uchiha-devils! First thing tomorrow morning, I will have a word with him. I’m not his great aunt for nothing and I’m pretty sure there are a few other people who have noticed the absolute lack of precautions of one of our own.”

Your mother kept on ranting and you kept on wondering what was going on. A quickly-exchanged glance with your father, who wore a grim expression on his face, then you turned back to your enraged parent. This was… so strange. Strange to see, strange to experience. You fully expected your mother to blow up on you, just like she had once blown up at you trying to learn the shinobi arts. Seeing her now trying to make things “the right way” even though Madara certainly wasn’t her first choice, trying to keep you safe in her own way…

The years of her scoffing at your shinobi training were illuminated in a new light. Sure, she protested at the start, but she allowed you to take lessons. Sure, your mother always hadn’t been too fond of your profession, but she didn’t say anything about it and even grew to be proud of you, in a sense. Sure, for a while now she tried to get you married, but it seemed to be her very own kind of care. Taught and learned through decades of old traditions, from mother to daughter and so forth. And it also seemed like she tried to learn, tried to grow and tried so hard to be a mother for you.

She tried. That was more than some other parents did.

A smile grew on your face even when tears stood in your eyes as you listened to your mother rant. Behind that calm and cultivated behavior she put on for guests and the clan, there was some fire you hadn’t known until now. Maybe, in the following months you could learn more of that side of your mother. It certainly seemed like a good idea.

Your mother was in the middle of her tirade about traditions losing value and that Hashirama must be out of his mind to be this blind to the potential dangers an arranged marriage could bring, all the while wringing either her hands or the still billowing wide sleeves of her kimono.

“Mother, it will be alright,” you interrupted her in the middle of a sentence, “because I know for certain Madara won’t pull through with the marriage. I’m… not his type.”

At that, your mother rolled your eyes and scoffed. “My dear, I know for certain that shinobi only have one type, and that is capable people. And you are most certainly more than capable in your profession, have manners and on top of that, inherited some of your father’s and my best physical qualities. If you’re not his type,” your mother indeed raised her hands to draw quotations marks in the air and with a tone tinged with unveiled scorn, “then he’s blind and stupid.”

You never thought of it that way. Certainly, you never ever considered… that Madara…? No. It couldn’t be.

But maybe…?

No. You shook your head. Your mother didn’t know Madara. She had no clue about his personality, how much he disdained you, the petty games he played to get back at you for doing the task which had been handed to you by your clan head. There was no way he liked you in any kind of way.

But… But… The little gestures. The blanket. The flowers. In a sense, even the kiss, gods. The kiss. If there’s truly not a single fond feeling for me in his body, would he still have done all these things?

So many questions, so little hints to figure out what was going on. Reality was easy. You were promised to Madara, he was promised to you. Out of his own decision and he seemed not that appalled by the choice the Senju obviously had to make, measured at the partner the Uchiha would provide. Maybe even betted on that as he was probably aware there was no other suitable candidate in your clan.

Your brain hurt from trying to come up with possible explanations which didn’t involve Madara being a malicious little shit. It just seemed so… surreal to even believe for one moment that there might be more of a reason than a simple childish revenge for him to act this way.

With a low sigh, you reached up and started to massage your temple, all the while still shaking your head. “You know what? It doesn’t really matter. It’s just really, really confusing and I’m way too tired to care about him. The best case would be that he doesn’t mean it and refuses the marriage in the end, anyway.”

For the first time this evening, your father spoke up. His hand was reassuring as it settled onto your shoulder, a gentle pressure, strong and secure. “No matter what happens, I want you to know you have nothing to fear from us. You’re our daughter, our sweet little daughter, and nothing will ever change that. We might not be perfect at times and only the gods know what your mother sometimes thinks,” his fondly-exasperated glance into his wife’s direction spoke of more than one story to tell about their marriage, about the good and bad times alike, “but we both want whatever is best for you. Be aware of that.”

Until now, you had to say you didn’t even think the support of your parents —of your mother— went that deep. However, one look thrown at your mother, who nodded in grim determination at you, and you knew though she would support you through storm and hail. It was definitely a nice feeling, knowing your parents were supporting you unconditionally, and especially nice to know that fact when Hashirama seemed to have lost his mind over the fulfilment of his long-life dream.

Deep down though you asked yourself if their support —especially your mother’s help— would end up being the last nail in your coffin or not, as you knew that eventually, the goals of your mother and your own goals wouldn’t overlap anymore.

Well, one step at a time. For now, she’s on my side and that should be everything I should be concerned about now. It will be a great help. For now, that’s fine with me.

~ X ~

Time flew by in the flurry of actions surrounding the founding of a new village. A place had to be picked out. The place had to meet several criteria, like natural defenses, potential of future expansions if more people than the clans currently on board would join, and big enough to house several clans right off the bat. Thankfully, Hashirama and Madara already had a place in mind and after several discussions and meetings between the clans, the place right beneath a cliff of a mountain was accepted.

Then, the real craziness started. Every shinobi had to help out building fundamentals for houses, building said houses, collecting wood and making bricks for more durable walls to surround the village. An incarnate system of pipes had to be laid out, the ground needed to be dug up in order to do so, fields needed to be divided and new clan grounds were assigned according to the size and needs of the respective clans.

Needless to say, it was a stressful time for you and there was no time to worry about Madara and his childish games. From the moment you stood up in the morning to the minute your head would touch the pillow of your bed and you were out like a light, you ran around the newly-founded village and helped to construct a peaceful home. No matter what task was bestowed upon you, you would do it, for the good of the village and the honor of your clan. Besides, there was something deeply satisfying in digging up the earth, elbow-deep in the dirt, and laying out the first stones to plaster the streets which would possibly carry the feet of the future generations.

You came home from such an intense, long day. The sleeves of your shirt were rolled up to your elbows and dirt caked the entire length of your exposed arm. Cold sweat drenched your clothes, the fabric sticking to your back like a second, uncomfortable skin. Some earth was even tangled into your hair and on your face, and you craved nothing more than a blessed warm bath, a quick meal and the welcoming softness of your bed when you entered the house your parents were assigned to.

Though, any thought of these simple measures was out of the window when you entered the house and felt a frighteningly familiar chakra alongside your mother’s aura.

At first you thought it was an illusion, an incarnate gen-jutsu. Then, your mind decided, no, it couldn’t be. Too many useless details. It would’ve needed a crazy genius with stalking tendencies to come up with such a believable yet impossible scenario.

A hoax, you reasoned then, a hoax between your mother and Madara. There was no other chance or possibility why on earth they would stare at you now, both with wide eyes, and your mother in the motion of pouring tea into Madara’s cup. Right in the middle of the official tea serving room, the young man was neatly kneeling on a pillow with his long hair tied into a high ponytail and revealing just enough of his collarbones that you asked yourself what sounds he would make if you decided to nibble ever so gently on them.

Your eyes squinted. Your mother even used her best tea service, no less.

“What are you doing here?” You pointed at Madara. Every thought of looking as roguish and dirty vanished at the absolute audacity of both your mother and Madara of pulling this crap out of their asses. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

Your growl woke the both of them up from their temporary paralysis. The tea started to pour into the fine porcelain, delicately decorated with a dragon running around the jade-white material while your mother shrugged and played your anger off like having Madara there was an insignificant concern you certainly shouldn’t worry about.

“Having an afternoon tea. What else does it look like?”

“Drinking tea with an Uchiha.”

Mildly offended, your mother pressed an elegant hand to her neck. “My, that argument is a tiny bit invalid, now that we all live together in one village. Besides, you told me yourself that the Uchiha aren’t that bad.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Oh, I think it is a perfect point. Additionally,” your mother’s lips twitched upwards and together with the mischievous sparkle in her eyes it wasn’t hard to figure out that she had planned this for a little while now, “your betrothed was really adamant in trying to meet me after I stopped by the Uchiha district to get to know him. As your mother, I have the right to talk to your fiancé to make sure he’s the right one for you.”

Just when you wanted to argue further, the sharp click of her tongue reminded you that you still had an onlooker to worry about. A soft reminder that you were acting incredibly rude and against all social rules your mother ever taught you. Next thing you knew she would sharply call out your name in order to remind you that you were out of line; A steely word wrapped in a soothing, silky voice.

Today though, you didn’t care. Without a hint of fear, you pressed onward, knowing very well what your reward would be in the end. “I don’t give a flying fuck! Why is he here, in this house? He has no place here!”

“(Y/N).”

“And you,” you pointed at your mother, rage filling your chest and disappointment clogged your throat, “you’re the biggest hypocrite in this entire farce! Not even two months ago, you would’ve spat into an Uchiha’s face given the chance, and now you’re cozying up with the guy who captured me? Is the prospect of marrying me off to any kind of influential clan that important to you?”

“(Y/N)!”

“And you fucking bastard,” still ignoring the unusually harsh warning of your mother, you turned to Madara, who was still seated and calmly sipped at his tea, “I can’t believe you’re going this far for a goddamn prank on me. I didn’t think you would stoop that low, but apparently, I got fooled by your damned manners and friendliness! Any kind of a gods forsaken crush I may have developed over the last months are now gone, that much I can assure you! You’re the most childish, stupid, idiotic, narcistic ass—!”

“(Y/N) Senju!”

Only on rare occasions, your mother raised her voice. These occasions were reserved for when she was incredibly humiliated or angered. Today, these two emotions seemed to balance each other out as she stared with furious eyes at you, her face just as red as yours when you would get angry. One look at her, and your heart sank. You pushed her too far, that was for sure.

Your mother stood up, straightened out the wrinkles in her clothes, as graceful as ever, and bowed her head to Madara.

“I have to apologize for my daughter. You came as a guest to us, not as an enemy, and yet were treated as such. My apologies.”

Madara only nodded. His dark eyes flickered back and forth, slight concern flashing over his face, before a curtain seemed to fall and wiped his features off of every notion that there had been any emotion to begin with.

“No worries,” he also stood up and lowered his chin to your mother and yourself, “I realize now I was too optimistic in my approach. I shouldn’t have come here so soon.”

“You shouldn’t have come here at all,” you hissed, before another glare of your mother shut you up for good.

However, Madara’s mouth pulled into a weak smile before the notion was just as fast gone as it had appeared. One step, and he was close enough that his scent hit you like a brick wall. The same lemon, the same soap, the same distinctive combination of familiar things which made you dizzy and wish he would lean in even closer.

His lips parted every so slightly as he leaned in, merely a few inches away from your ear. “Oh, I think this visit was indeed worth the insults hurled at me. Very enlightening. See you soon, (Y/N).”

With that, Madara walked past you, leaving behind the vague sense of panic, dread and hesitant happiness, and your mother, positively fuming and ready to deliver a few harsh words to remind you of your manners and duty.

“What was that about?” This time, she was ready for a fight. Rolling up her sleeves, your mother set out to clean up the tea service. The porcelain clanked way too harshly together as she piled the cups onto the small tablet, not caring about possibly chipping the delicate paint. “He’s your fiancé, not some random thug on the streets you can insult however you want! On top of that, he’s the clan head of the clan who once was so close to killing us! Do you want to ruin this village before it even had the chance to succeed?”

“Like you care! Like you cared one bit before Hashirama convinced the clan to at least try to make peace! You only care about the prestige this marriage will bring me! All the bullshit about my safety and that you care was just so you could lull me into peace and knit your fucking net of lies and deceit!”

“He came to me, begging for an official meeting to get to know his future family. When I went to the Uchiha district, he came to me and asked for a formal introduction! I have to get to know him to make sure you’re safe in his hands, and don’t even try to say I don’t care about you because that is not true!”

“Then you have a really strange way of showing that.” You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at your mother as she straightened, hair falling out of her face and her eyes sparkling in her anger. “All you seem to care about is marrying me off to some stranger and now that Madara stepped forward to claim that spot, you couldn’t seem happier!”

Her anger instantly dimmer down, mixed with a tired tinge and something you couldn’t exactly name. Some kind of curtain, dark and bleak and unmistakably sad; so sad you wondered. “I do not only care about marrying you off. I do care about knowing you’re safe and sound in these strange times.”

“And still: you show your care in strange ways.”

In an unusually nervous display of her emotions, your mother bit her fingers. The perfect manicure suffered under the rough treatment, being nibbled and bitten on. A tic you had never seen on her. Then, she shook her head. “No, I’m… I never realized… Perhaps it was my education, my own upbringing… My mother taught me how to treat my daughter like she had been taught by her mother and so on and so forth… It was the only care I ever received, so I believed… I believed it was the right way, the only way to show that I do…”

“Care?” A bitter laugh rose in your chest. “Care by ignoring me and my wishes? And you excuse it by saying that was what you were taught? It’s not like you could just look over that garden wall you conveniently pulled up around yourself and look at what was behind it! Break the cycle of—!”

You stopped in the middle of your sentence. Horror dawned upon you as you realized you were exactly sounding like Madara when he told you about your warmongering unwillingness to change, to look ahead and aim at peace instead of keeping your head down and letting the war rage on, letting the blood spill continue.

Erringly so.

The asshole messed with you even when he wasn’t in the room! How dare him! How dare he manage to mess with your head like this! How dare he intrude on your brain and heart to that extent!

Another sharp laugh ripped itself from your lips as you sank to your knees, face hidden behind your hands. “Fuck him,” you breathed, “fuck him, fuck him, fuck him! He can’t just come in here like a goddamn peacock and fucking claim his stake here, invade my thoughts like that! Such a fucking asshole, I will actually…”

To your shock, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. With an angry swipe, you wiped them away. Shedding tears over him would never be worth it. When would you finally understand that?

Probably never. Or for as long as this stupid crush lasted.

When your mother’s hand warily brushed over your shoulder, you didn’t react. At her second touch though, you looked up, eyes burning and nose scrunched up, hair in disarray and still slightly sweaty and dirty from the hard work you fulfilled for the newly founded village. In comparison, her perfectly pulled up hair, the delicate make-up and only weakly disheveled clothes were the epitome of civilization and beauty. Everything a proper lady should be. Everything you would never be.

“What?” Despite your need for a hiss, your voice came out as a little weak whimper.

For a moment, your mother chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry for never listening properly. I was blind and deaf to your needs, but it’s also true that I want you to be safe and sound and also happy. So… What I’m trying to say,” carefully, your mother lowered herself to your side, the silk of her kimono billowing around her before coming to a rest on the tatami mats and you fought the desire to snap back at her. “I’m willing to listen properly now. To let you speak about what’s troubling you.”

An offer she never made before. Suspicions rose, but as it turned out, you were weak to the promise of finally being heard by the person which never listened until this moment.

“Fine.” Again, you wiped over your eyes, sniveled and nodded. “Fine. It’s a long story though.”

“Don’t worry. I have time.”

“Alright. You know, one evening, I was out training, Hashirama came to look for me because…”

Words flowed like a wild waterfall out of you. Unstoppable and unable to contain them one bit when they started, you told your mother everything. About the unreasonable order Hashirama gave you. The pretend-relationship with Madara. The clan grounds of the Uchiha. The children you met there, the discoveries you made about the nature of your sworn enemies, the experiences which made you change your mind about them and the blossoming feelings for the damned asshole Madara. The sweet gestures he bestowed upon you, the touches, the blanket, the flowers. The kiss. Then, his mocking of your feelings, the release of Izuna’s soul and the turning of your back to him before you returned to your own blood. And, the last offense to your burning heart, the stupid proposition in front of the round of influential clan heads to marry someone from the Senju, with you being the most likely candidate to be offered to Madara.

The entire time you spoke, your mother didn’t interrupt you once. The entire time, her attention was wholly fixated on you and you only; on your words and the revelations you made to her. Just once or twice, it seemed like she wanted to speak up, her lips already parted, but just when you thought you had to stop, she would shake her head and lower her chin to allow you to speak freely.

It was nice. Definitely nice for once to speak like this to her. Confide in her without a worry of being judged or being told what you were doing wrong or what you could do better; without a comment in between and merely a supportive nod while you tried to find the right words to show how confused, upset and angered you were at Madara’s behavior. And last but definitely not least, you revealed to your mother how deep your feelings truly ran. How utterly charmed you were by the little friendly gestures, how you couldn’t think of something else than the kiss at times, that you wanted nothing more than to get just as close to Madara once more, to kiss him again, to touch and bicker with him like that just one more time.

At the end, your throat and mouth were dry from all the talking you did. Silence reigned in the room as you tried not to panic at having revealed so much to someone you barely trusted with your armor, not to talk about your most secret emotions.

Though, your mother seemed to be deeply in thought. Her eyebrows were drawn together, wrinkled in a perfect curve as her thin fingers, free from any blemishes, scars and calluses stroked ever so sensually over the sleeves of her kimono.

Nervousness ran down your spine as you waited for her verdict. The silence was unbearable. Just too much pressure in the air. Strange. In the midst of battle, you had never felt this uncomfortable. In battle, every decision could decide over life and death, meanwhile right now, it was merely a decision over the respect of your mother and your budding, possible future relationship you could have with her.

“Tell me,” you twitched at her voice breaking the silence, “tell me exactly how you feel about him. Without any preamble and as clear as possible.”

Not what you expected. Not at all.

“I…” One last time, you swallowed all the false pretense and indignant anger down. “I love him. I think I do. No, I know I do.”

Your mother sighed, but a little smile tugged at her mouth. “Fair enough. That would be a better start for a marriage than your father and I had.”

“You and father…?”

“Do you think our start wasn’t rocky? Even though our clans weren’t sworn enemies before our marriage, we still didn’t know each other. You already had more time with your fiancé than I had. I know, I know. You don’t want him as your fiancé.”

“No, I want him as my fiancé.” Admitting it was even worse than you thought, your entire face going cherry red. Quickly, you looked away, all the while pressing more words out than you would like to utter in this very moment. “Not… Not like this, though. He forces it, makes it part of a contract without even having any feelings for me. He doesn’t like… love me like I love him.”

At your statement, your mother giggled. Yes, giggled. Like a little girl caught up in the prank she played on her older siblings. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, mirth glittering in her eyes, “I think you would be pleasantly surprised by him if you would… what do the Hatake always say when it comes to their fields and vegetables?”

“Look underneath the underneath.”

“Exactly.” Her hand landed on your shoulder, patting ever so awkwardly the spot, flattened a wrinkle in your dirty clothes. “Look underneath his bristly behavior and I believe you will find a man who has no idea how to express himself properly. At least, that’s the impression I got when he searched me out, desperate to talk to me and wanting to know how he could make peace with you.”

“Did he really say that?”

“Not directly.” Your mother straightened her posture; always the epitome of gentle composure and mysterious beauty. “But I could see it in his eyes and nothing says more about a man in love than his eyes.”

Which was, oddly enough, probably a fitting statement for the Uchiha especially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the kudos to Chisie, the bestest Beta-Reader in the world! <3


	6. Husband and Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your feelings are out in the open, but you still have no idea how Madara truly, clearly feels. Time to face him one last time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here it is ^^ The last (story-wise) chapter. The very last chapter will merely be a little nsfw-ish with a little bit of context what happend afterwards. But who knows? Maybe (probably) I will go overboard once more >-<
> 
> For now though, this chapter has a pretty good ending in my opinion. I hope you guys think the same! Thank you all for following this fic for such a long time and thank you also for all the nice comments, kudos and bookmarks! :D  
Now, I won't stop you any longer ;D Have fun!

Your mother’s mysterious words haunted your mind at every moment you spent awake and aware while you were elbow-deep in the dirt and building Konohagakure with your bare hands; while you sat at Tobirama’s side and took detailed notes of the various lengthy meetings with the clan heads and the advisors about the technical side of running an entire, autonomic village; and while you were squeezing a teeny, tiny training session into the busy schedule to make sure your shinobi skills wouldn’t get rusty in this period of peace.

Her words and your own damned hope spun around in your head like a Hyuuga defending themselves. A terribly wonderful vortex of “what-if’s” and “never in hell”. The chance of Madara liking you in the same way you liked him seemed too slim, and yet the idea of it consumed your every little thought—Madara’s gestures, accommodations, his stubborn refusal to talk with you after you threw your sudden confession into his face… just all of these.

His last words still echoed in your ears and made you blush at what you had revealed at the time. Before, you had merely a vague hint at hand that he was maybe aware of your feelings. Now, he actually had true, real, hurtful ammunition at his disposal, and Madara was never one to go easy on somebody.

No, he would go to war with you and use every card in his arsenal to win.

The true question was, what would be his prize in the end?

You hated that the answer you hoped for was ‘yourself’. That he would claim you as his in every shape and form, declare his love for you and kiss you again, and _meaning_ every sinful flick of his tongue.

Just maybe, you also picked up a few old romance novels you found in your mother’s small library. Just… _maybe_.

The deep sigh dropping from your mouth did nothing to raise your mood. You lowered your hands and stared blindly at the training post, faint pulses radiating from your knuckles where your fists had dented the polished wood ever so slightly. If there was one good thing that came out of the last weeks, it was that your physical strength greatly improved due to all the heavy lifting and digging up hard, rocky earth to construct the village. Even though you weren't training regularly, you weren’t even sweating that much even after blanking out for a good amount of time.

Your fingers flexed as you thought about what to do next. Maybe a few easy kata to test if you lost any of your flexibility. Maybe you could try out some of the seals you developed, see how they were reacting to your chakra infusion or how they would be applicable during fast movements.

Before you could decide on a follow-up exercise though, you scanned the nearby surroundings out of old instinct. There, a strange yet familiar chakra was quickly closing in. Strange because you had never seen it so alive and bright, familiar because you spent so much time around him already.

You didn’t look up when you heard the bushes faintly rustle in your back. “What do you want? Speak on your brother’s behalf? Or insult me more so you can lose another bet?” A scowl flashed over your face, tugging your mouth into a grimace at the mere memory of that meeting.

Izuna’s laugh was carefree and light, unlike any Uchiha you ever had the pleasure of hearing their laughter. “Oh, feisty! Not that I expected anything else from you.”

“What do you want?” you repeated.

Footsteps in your back, then the young man came into your view. With the lax confidence of someone who didn’t give a flying fuck about a thing in the world, he leaned against the training post, inspecting the spots where a few faint splatters of blood painted the wood into a rusty color. “Training that hard? Oh my, haven’t you heard? We’re at peace now.”

A sudden flare of anger burned bright in your chest. “What do you care what I’m doing?” you snapped. “It’s none of your concern! Again, tell me what you want from me or just _leave_!”

“My, a temper as well. No wonder my brother is so smitten with you.”

Izuna looked smug. Smug like he just revealed a big secret to you; smug like he didn’t expect any retaliation; smug like he didn’t think anyone could hurt him. However, you weren’t in the mood for his bullshit.

One step, a quick reach of your hand and your fingers fisted the ridiculous wide neckline of his shirt (apparently, Uchiha’s loved that particular wide neckline in which they could hide whenever they wanted). “Spit it out,” you hissed, “or I will fucking bash your face into the post and enjoy every crunch of your nose.”

The idiot had the audacity to _grin_ full of glee. “Wait, stealing my soul wasn’t enough for you? Making me a comatose puppet and hearing almost every word spoken _about _me but not being able to _speak_ on my behalf isn’t enough for you? Now you want to ruin this pretty face as well? How cruel you are. How absolutely disgustingly perfect you are for my brother.”

“I’m not perfect _for him_! I don’t have any—!”

“Ah,” you wanted to break the wagging finger he pushed into your face, “don’t lie to me. I know you have feelings for him. He told me. He told me everything. And you apparently ignored my subtle hint that I could listen to almost everything happening around me, which was really, really boring most of the time, lying all alone in that room, you know?”

In the back of your mind, you were aware that he was trying to guilt-trip you. Load you up on the fact that you were indeed at fault for stealing almost two months from him, in which he was alive and aware enough to realize what was going on around him, but could not lift a single finger or even speak. However, the guilt paled in front of the wave of unrestricted rage flooding through your mind. Madara told him? Madara told him about your stupid crush? About your _feelings_? And now this brat, barely able to walk as he was still recovering from the mentioned two months of lying around like some pickled vegetable, had the _gall _to come right up into your face and try to joke about it?

For the first time, you saw something akin to worry flash over his face as Izuna studied your features in search for a hint of interest. Apparently, he didn’t find a single spark of that; just endless, righteous fury. Hot rage filled your throat as your hand twitched, pulling Izuna with force into the way too close wooden post.

“Wait!” he shouted just before his face met the wood and just in time, you managed to stop. A few inches, nothing more it would take to smash his nose, but in a fit of clarity, you let go. Your cramped fingers slightly hurt and flexing them only partly helped while you glared at the younger man, daring him to continue his outrageous statements.

You felt at least a bit guilty when you watched how he leaned against the wooden post, not out of cockiness and self-confidence anymore, but in need of support to keep himself upright. He was still weak and really shouldn’t be up and running around, spouting nonsense and planting rumors.

_But what if it’s true? What if he can tell you something interesting? What if he can tell you something important about Madara?_

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I’m… It’s a bad reason, but I’m pretty stressed out at the moment.”

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s a bad reason.” Izuna shook his head, then pushed himself off of the post. For a moment, it seemed like he would fall. Instantly, you rushed to his side and offered your arm. His easy compliance screamed about his exhaustion, as he simply grabbed your forearm and allowed you to lead him into the shade of a nearby tree, carefully guiding him down into the soft grass. “Gods, that’s nice… Was the earth always this soft?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you answered.

You had never looked too closely at Izuna before; not in the months you had to work at him, not in the few moments you were too occupied hating him for spilling all your emotions out into the open. With his black, long hair tied falling over his shoulder with every step, the mysteriously equally black, deep eyes and the roguish charm he exuded, Izuna was already an eyecatcher. Certainly, he would grow up to be just as handsome as his big brother, yes, but he was still so terribly young, and he nearly died by your hands, withering away like a just blossomed flower. He nearly _died_ and only sheer, raw luck kept him alive long enough for you to discover how to return his soul. In a sense, you two were tied together, through the bond only a stolen soul could create. Truly, a one-of-a-kind bond.

For a while, none of you spoke. It was just nice to sit there in silence, listening to the gentle brush of wind through leaves, the very faraway noise of construction going on and the voices ebbing up and down, just a background noise which didn’t allow you to make out any clear words. Just voices, soothing in their presence yet not close enough to be a threat.

“You were aware?” you finally asked. Your eyes were set on the training post, but you were also heavily aware of Izuna’s presence. Every moment, he would answer, and you weren’t sure if you would like the answer or not. “You could hear everything?”

“Most of it,” was the breathy answer and your heart stopped for a moment, “Some of it is pretty… washed out. Like I’m trying to look through a very dirty window and someone tied a thick towel around my head to keep me from hearing. Some things are clearer than others… I remember mostly Madara.”

“He spent a lot of time with you.”

“Yeah.” To your surprise, Izuna snorted. “So worried; always, always so worried. Like I didn’t know what I was signing up for when I wanted to become his right hand man in battle. Blamed himself for sending me on that investigation of your borders. Cursed you out a few times, then cursed at me for being so sloppy with my defense, _'like always'._” His voice darkened into a cheap imitation of Madara’s frustrated growl you knew only too well.

Deeply in thought, you nodded. “If I remember correctly, your defense was kinda… nevermind. Go on.”

A hard glare was thrown your way and wisely, you decided to keep your mouth shut for once. Nevertheless, the little silly waggle of his eyebrows couldn’t be missed as he sighed full of exasperated attitude at your suggestion that maybe, _possibly_ something was wrong with his defense. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted, I meant to say he talked an awful lot about you. Like, a _lot_-lot. First, he was obviously pissed. Ranted a lot that Hashirama must be out of his mind to make him host you, the charade you two had to play and stuff. To be completely honest, I’m impressed he agreed to it.”

“I believe he loves you a lot more than you think,” you threw in.

“I know,” he threw his hands into the air, “I _know_ he loves me! A whole lot! Maybe even too much! Hell and heaven above, in my greatest nightmares I died and he would do unspeakable things to humanity because he already lost so much! You have no idea how it is to fear for your own safety because _your own brother_ would burn the world down to avenge your death. That’s not a feeling I wish anybody to have, Senju.”

You wished you could deny it, but in a sense, you understood. Izuna was cursed with a sibling with unfathomable powers. If Madara truly wished for it, he was actually _able _to burn the world down. With a lot of effort, yes, but definitely in the range of his abilities. Who knew what he would be capable of in a few years?

Hashirama was of the same kind: the same power to level entire mountains, the same immeasurable desire to put his stamp onto the world, and the same straightforward drive and passion.

“I see,” was your only answer. Slowly, you lowered yourself into the grass as well, a few meters away from Izuna, but still close enough to be able to jump to his side if he needed help.

With a low sigh, the younger boy gestured vaguely into the direction of the slowly building village. “He’s… he’s fucking intense sometimes. Always has been. But… he softened. Softened because of you.”

“That’s not true, I don’t think—”

“Oh, believe me. It is true. Gods, he became so sappy over you, I would’ve gagged if I had been able to.”

“Come on.” Laughing, you shook your head. “That’s just bullshit.”

But instead of calling off his joke, Izuna stared in mild annoyance at you. “Can’t you just listen? You’re so convinced that he has no feelings for you that you brush off any hints that he might have some! Hell, after he came back yesterday and was basically floating over the ground, I thought everything was cleared up, but no!” Izuna hissed between clenched teeth. “Here _you_ are, still worrying and not listening even when I have the most awesome insider information you could ask for! You should grovel at my feet for an inkling of insight into my stubborn brother’s head! Gods, this is more frustrating than arguing against that albino dickhead and his dumb proposal for a “non-prejudiced school and neutral teachers”. Seriously, there’s no way the teachers will be without prejudices against the Uchiha, there are still lots of people who hate us for—!”

“Izuna. Concentrate.”

Well, at least he was wrong in one regard. You already considered Madara’s feelings being possibly true. It just couldn’t be true, though, despite your mother’s words.

_Maybe though. Maybe, there’s a speck of truth behind all of it._

_Just listen. Listen for a little bit, then decide._

Listening to your own thoughts was already disturbing enough as it was, but knowing that a part of you _wanted_, no, _needed_ to listen to Izuna, to satisfy and feed the small spark of hope living in your chest since the day you truly realized that there was something more going for Madara as you first believed.

“Well, go on.” You let yourself fall backwards, falling into the indeed softest grass in the entire country. The blue sky winked at you before you closed your eyes, concentrating on Izuna’s breath, small noises, anything that could tell you if he lied or told the truth.

“Well,” Izuna sighed, “At first, as I said, he was… really apprehensive. He didn’t like you. Like, at all. But… You know, after a while, he… grew soft on you. Never happened before by the way. With anyone. He likes someone or he doesn’t like them, point, period. He doesn’t change his mind.”

_Truth. He’s not lying. At least, as far as I’m aware of._

“And… you know,” again, Izuna sighed but you just knew he sighed with a weak smile on his face when he thought back to these special times, “he was… damn, I never experienced him like this. Normal people are smitten with someone, but my brother… He… I don’t know. It’s… hard to explain. He started… he started making little compliments, almost. Something like… _oh, the Senju isn’t as stuck up I thought. Even treated Aimi well. _Or, or he also said, _the way she put the damn elders into place was so good, you should’ve seen it_. Small things. Small, but good things.”

_Again, the truth._

You tried to stay neutral. Nevertheless, the words were affecting you. Warmth rose in your chest, born from the bittersweet feelings you harbored. Indeed, the small, but good things; the way Madara treated children; the way he had treated you, his sworn enemy, begrudgingly but with due respect; his passion for his clan, his people which depended on him, and for the people he cared about.

It had started out the same for you as well. Madara, the fucking…

Suddenly, you wanted to cry out. Not out of despair, not out of fear or pain. Because you started to realize what was going on and that was maybe the worst and best thing at the same time.

“Then, he started… he started to _gush_ about you. How your hair would fall when you were leaning over some scrolls, how fierce you are in training, how good you look in the clothes with the Uchiha crest on your chest. He was so obviously in love that I would’ve loved to shake him and scream at him that he should confess, but hey. You know, I was a bit handicapped because of the whole soul-stealing-thing, so…”

“Not much choice there,” you mumbled while tears started to burn in the corner of your eyes.

_Truth, truth, the fucking truth. I hear it, he knows it. He knows, knows, knows._

_And now, I know it too. Know it with full certainty._

_Fuck._

For the first time, Izuna laughed. “Hey, finally someone who gets it! I’m just making a joke here, but Madara-nii-san always acts like I shouldn’t even mention my coma or anything around it. It’s over, it’s done! And making jokes about it helps, so why shouldn’t I?”

“I see nothing wrong with that.”

“I have to say, I start to like you more and more, (Y/N) Senju!”

“If it continues like this,” a stray tear rolled down your face and vanished in the hair and grass, “you should start calling me ‘sister-in-law’, don’t you think?”

At least, Izuna hollered at your weak joke while you tried to suppress the tears starting to roll faster. Quickly, you hid your eyes behind an arm 'coincidentally' falling over your face while listening to Izuna, who continued to ramble on and on about what he heard from Madara himself about you. You, every good side you could see in yourself and the bad qualities which Madara apparently repainted into nicer colors.

By denying your own feelings, by denying that there were any feelings coming from Madara, you wasted so much time. Wasted time and created so much unnecessary tension and pain for the both of you.

You had to stop. Had to stop now, and maybe even start. Start to make some things right.

Yes. The stupid tears dried instantly when you dropped your arm back to your side into the grass. Make things right. Make him realize you knew what was up now, that his cryptid words wouldn’t affect you anymore. No, this time you would make _him _suffer for a bit.

That sounded way better than crying about the lost time. There was peace now, for fuck’s sake. You had all the time in the world. All the time to convince Madara that he should get his head out of his ass and goddammit just confess to you, without any hidden meanings behind his mysterious words. And for playing with you, for making you doubt yourself and your feelings, he would suffer.

_Oh. I will tease him a bit more. Like he teased me, the fucker._

~ X ~

Meeting Madara after Izuna’s revelation wasn’t as hard as you initially believed. It took nothing more than continuing to attend the different meetings of the clan advisors who were responsible for the ongoing negotiations to meet him, but there was no chance to tease him and there was no way in hell you wanted to stand in his path at that moment.

Routinely, you followed Tobirama like a shadow into the wide room in the wooden construction which marked the spot for the future “Hokage Tower” (Hashirama called it that and to be honest, having a huge building with all the administration in one place made some kind of sense). In your arms were pencils, papers and a canteen filled to the brim with the strongest black tea you could find. The meetings tended to be dull and incredibly sleep-inducing, and unfortunately you weren’t allowed to start exercising during them, so that was a compromise.

To your faint surprise, Madara was already waiting, surrounded by the rest of the advisors. Not one of them looked comfortable enough to have agreed to this, the least of them was the Uchiha advisor herself. She was trying to talk to Madara in harsh whispers, but got denied any chance to maybe change his mind when Tobirama reacted to his presence in the only way he knew: faint disdain and a scoff.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Madara, not caring how everyone twitched at the sharp tone. “Don’t you have another training field to level in one of your childish tantrums?”

You would’ve expected the Uchiha to blow up in a quite spectacular manner. However, his shoulders merely tensed and the grip into his crossed arms tightened, before he stood up. The legs of the chair screeched over the wood as he stood tall, every inch of him born to lead and to give commands, and to the gods, you couldn’t help yourself but to _want _to follow, at least the tiniest bit.

His dark, stormy eyes flashed to you and quickly, you looked down to your feet as blood and heat rose into your face. Gods, this was so embarrassing. To be this easily flustered over a mere glance, but it also felt good, it felt nice to be weakened by your own emotions, knowing they returned.

“I’m here,” his full voice was calm yet strained as Madara spoke up, “I’m here to ask you to reevaluate the educational system you set up.”

Tobirama coolly raised a single eyebrow. “What about it?”

“It’s not fair. It’s biased. The teachers which made it through the tests are still holding up old prejudices. Granted, prejudices which are from last month, but nevertheless prejudices which make it harder for the Uchiha children to learn. There’s no balance in your system. If this continues, the hate inside my clan will fester and this time, it will be based on valid reasons and not on nightmarish stories you tell your children to behave.”

He was right. He was so terribly, terribly right. If the Uchiha children would be discriminated against from the get-go in this supposedly peaceful village, the hatred for the surrounding clans could only grow. Grow into something monstrous. A betrayal out of their own reigns, especially if one of the quickly founded _other _villages in the other countries were attacking… Only doom would follow, just because of such a small decision.

Now, how would Tobirama react? Your eyes fluttered over to your superior and friend, anxious to see the right answer in his face and fearing you would find the wrong one instead.

Maybe it was even worse to see no answer at all. Tobirama’s face was blank and a cold shudder wandered down your spine at the sight. Gods, this was the face no enemy of the Senju wanted to see. Calculating, accessing, analyzing.

“No.”

Such a final answer. Alarmed, you looked again at Tobirama, but he didn’t even bother to check on you or his other assistant. He looked straight at Madara, eyes unyielding and stance unbroken, while you tried to gain his attention without breaking the tense silence. “No, I will not overthrow my perfectly fine school system and fine volunteers because of these nonsensical allegations. You have no proof. The school is barely running for a few weeks, how can you—”

“Then see how shit your system is that I already noticed these faults!”

_“Enough_!” Even the Uchiha advisor looked for a moment scared at the sharp bark Tobirama let out. Though, Madara seemed even more furious. His hair bristled, his fists clenched, only for his jaw to tense when he bit his tongue to throw a burning hot, hateful glare at the Senju, before storming past him and you.

Not one other word. Not one glance. It hurt like he cut you with a thousand knives. You clutched your papers and pencils to your chest as his scent enveloped you. The same scent you got to know so much over the last months, the same scent you wanted to smell all the time, the same fucking scent you would love to wake up every morning.

You couldn’t let that stand like this. “Tobirama-sama, you can’t just—!”

“I can, and I will,” he snapped back, “and you’re compromised, anyway. If you don’t like my methods, you can always leave.”

He really went there. In front of all the advisors. At a simple reminder that he still needed to be civil with Madara who brought up a valid concern, he not only blew up at one of the most influential clan heads who was also responsible for even starting their alliance, but also discredited you and cut you down when you just wanted to help.

Fuck, you were aware Tobirama was stressed, incredibly so. However, you all were, so that excuse fell flat on its face. And still, you were also aware of the heavy load of work he put on his own shoulders, denying anyone the chance to help him and only giving in when the sleepless nights became way too much and Hashirama begged him to stop. The village was also important to him, but his disdain for the Uchiha together with his hurt pride at being challenged so openly made him lash out and not consider one word of Madara’s request.

“Alright then.” You didn’t think, just acted. With a nod at Tobirama, then the increasingly nervous advisors, you turned around and headed towards the door, not listening to the quiet stutter of the other writer Tobirama brought with him and relishing in the silent gasps ringing throughout the room at the sheer _defiance _in complying to Tobirama’s half-assed threat.

Apparently, the man himself was too shocked to react quick enough. When you turned once around, door handle in hand and heart feeling light, the surprise was clearly written across his features. There he was, black circles beneath his eyes, slim figure and arms full with scrolls he worked hard on, without a doubt stuffed to the brim with ideas which would improve the life of all the future inhabitants of Konohagakure.

Not Uchiha's life, though.

“Have a nice day!” Cheerily, you waved into the room. Some advisors were so confused they waved back, but Tobirama started to wake up from the temporary paralysis your feistiness put him in. His face twisted ever so slowly into disgruntled annoyance, but before he could question you in any way, the door closed behind you and you were out of there.

Gods, it felt fucking _awesome_ to defy him like that. A little giggle bounced back and forth in your chest, rising and rising into your throat and mouth, only to burst out as true, freeing laughter. Gods, this was the best thing you did in a whole while!

“What are you laughing about?”

Madara’s voice cut through the light happiness. Too close, too sudden. Your eyes flew open, and seeing him standing so close to you, leaning against the wall right beside the door, you stumbled away.

“Fuck!” One of your hands flew up to cover your quickly beating heart. “What are you still doing here?”

His icy expression still hadn’t lightened up, but the tension in his shoulders dropped the tiniest bit at your question. “The albino jerk would win for good if I can’t control my feelings for a little bit. What are you doing?”

“Well,” you straightened yourself out, “I’m just hanging out here. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Here. In the hallway.”

“Yeah.”

“In the hallway of a boring, temporary administration building.”

“Obviously.”

“Right in front of the door leading to the meeting you should probably attend as one of Tobirama’s secretaries.”

In a silent challenge, you raised your chin. “Possibly? I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

His tension faded with every second of meaningless banter. You even thought to have seen a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes as Madara leaned more comfortably against the wall, arms crossed and hair not as bristly and wild as before. “Oh, it is indeed my business. We’re still promised to each other.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“Yeah.” You didn’t feel like it, but raised your nose nevertheless. “It’s not like you engaged in any activities with me to remind or convince me otherwise this would be a good idea.”

“Activities?” Madara echoed. “What activities?”

“If you don’t know even that,” with a low sigh, you pushed yourself off of the door and started to walk away, knowing Madara was staring at your back like a man possessed, “then I can’t help you. Have a nice day, Madara. Good luck with convincing Tobi that his idea is in its essence bad for the village, when he merely sees the good for the majority of the other clans.”

~ X ~

Merely a few hours after you came back from the disastrous meeting, a little note found its way onto the windowsill of your room. Scribbled in the familiar handwriting were a time (_tomorrow, noon_), a place (_a small food stall at the already lively main street_) and a clear order to be on time and “appropriately clothed”. Honestly, it was ridiculously rude of Madara to basically order you to go meet him, but you would let it slide.

Apparently, your little hint made its way into his thick brain.

~ X ~

It was market day, one of the newly established days to give nearby farmers and producers already a platform to sell their wares and allow the shinobi and civilians to meet up on truly neutral ground. Due to that, the freshly laid out streets were lively and noisy when you came closer and closer to the meeting point. There were lots of people walking around, enjoying the sun shining down on them, marketeers loudly praised their goods to passerbys, children played on the streets and their laughter rang in the air like bells. That was what a peaceful village should be like and your heart swelled at the sight of all this.

You made that possible. By helping Izuna, you managed to push Madara into action. That small action, born out of hatred and bloodshed, was the catalyst of all this. Even though you hated to admit this, Hashirama pushing you to accept this impossible quest was… for the better.

Even when his way of doing so didn’t sit well with you.

Seeing this peaceful era bloom right in front of your eyes was the privilege of the living. You were lucky to be alive, carried by the death of your comrades and the death of your enemies; lucky to have gotten this old already, nearly twenty and still with all of your fingers and toes. The dark thoughts were only chased away when the familiar ink-black mop of bristly hair came into your view, bound into his high ponytail you loved to see on him.

Warmth spread in your stomach. _Loved_. Gods, thinking it so freely already seemed like a risk. So loud and echoing in your head that you certainly believed him to be able to hear it when Madara closed the distance between the two of you. He was dressed appropriately for a light walk, summer clothes in dark colors. However, the high collar was missing, exchanged for a neckline which revealed just enough of his neck and collarbones that it made you grow hotter beneath your own clothes.

Measured at the little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, he knew what he was doing to you with that small patch of skin.

_Cocky bastard._

“Hello.” His voice lowered to the point of being barely audible when he was close enough. “Good to see you.”

Too formal. Way too normal. That was not Madara—not the Madara you knew. You had no idea what he wanted to achieve with that, but you had to stop it before it even began.

“What?” Your sharp tone was only softened by your own smile. “No insult about my clothes? No comment about my unruly hair? You’re growing soft on me, Uchiha.”

“I just didn’t want to start off our conversation with an insult, but sure, you look like you just fell out of bed. I expected more from you.”

“And I expected more from you when it comes to insulting me.” Your little smile turned into a full-blown grin.

You both smiled at each other, knowing none of the insults were truly intended to sting. For another very long moment, there was nothing but silence between the two of you, but then a group of children ran by laughing, and the spell broke. Madara’s smile fell as he turned away, but yours didn’t as you fell into step with him. Merely a meter apart, you couldn’t help yourself but to try and sneak a little peek at him. Yet in that moment, you met his eyes and your grin widened.

“What?” Madara snapped, even though his voice missed its usual bite.

“Nothing,” you instantly bit back and watched how he scowled at your cryptid answer.

In silence, only accompanied by the surrounding people living their peaceful lives, you made your way out of the market district and definitely closer and closer to the newly built school. If Madara really didn’t expect you to notice that, he was an utter and complete fool. Your heart sank when you realized what his plans were, especially when you saw how Madara’s attention shifted from you to the enemy he was most likely going to face as soon as he was within screaming range.

“Do you really want to do this now?” you asked when the first signs of lively child activity echoed through the air.

“Oh, of course,” Madara could be mistaken for a feral by the way he was smiling, “as I have now you on my side, that will surely convince Tobirama to overthink his stupid schedule and training plans!”

Disappointment spread through your chest. So, not a date. Maybe your hint had been too hidden for the mule-headed, blind idiot. Maybe you really had to spell it out for him that you wanted to spend time together, spend some valuable time with him and not share his attention with Tobirama and the gods-damned academy schedule.

But there was apparently no way around it, as Madara sped up and walked ahead, not caring about you and solely focused on his goal: to show Tobirama how wrong he was.

_And there I thought he cares about me._

_Well, fine. If it’s that important to him._

_And afterwards, I can say “fuck it” and walk away from his theatrics._

The academy was a truly beautiful building. It stood tall and proud as the pinnacle of craftsmanship and the hard effort of a few weeks, with pristine white walls and a playful orange-red roof, with a sign hanging right above the mighty entrance doors. Future generations would learn how to become great shinobi here, right in the shadow of the Hokage Mountain with the faces of the coming leaders embedded into the stone. The training grounds surrounding it were currently in use, a gaggle of children of different clans playing together while still learning something about the ninja arts, and amongst them stood Tobirama, sans his fur, happuri and armor, arms crossed and watching the children with an unwavering, unrelenting expression on his face. Another group of teachers stood by and watched over the children just as much as following Tobirama’s example of trying to teach the new generation.

Just when Madara reached the very edge of the training ground, Tobirama reacted. Of course, he had felt your approach from a mile away, but only decided to now show what he thought of it. Even from your own distant position, you could see the scowl flashing over his face before he walked over to confront Madara, not without giving you a serious stink-eye.

“What are you doing here, you imbecile?” he spat out, soft enough that none of the children would hear it. “Are you that desperate to show me up that you see the need to disturb the lessons?”

Madara’s hair bristled, a tell-tale sign he was furious. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Senju, but you’re the imbecile between us! Look! Just look what your education already did to the children of the Uchiha clan!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Not even five minutes in and the argument was escalating already, as if you hadn't expected anything else from these two. However, the children were already overly curious, their heads turning and whispering among themselves at seeing their teacher arguing with two strangers. Gently, but with a tone of finality which shut both of them up, you pressed yourself into the small space between them. “Madara, calm down, and you Tobi: maybe take a serious look at your apprentices. Just look for more than a second, because even I can see it as clear as day.”

Another sour glare was thrown your way, but apparently, your word still weighed on his mind. He turned towards the training grounds, letting his eyes roam over the field, the children playing in small groups and the teachers walking around and trying to correct some mistakes.

You could feel in your back how Madara wanted to interject, but without looking, you grabbed his hand and squeezed it. A silent warning: _say something right now and I will demolish you_. Thankfully, he kept quiet and even softly squeezed back.

_Thank you_.

“I see the children playing,” Tobirama finally answered, “and I see my teachers trying to teach them. Nothing wrong with that.”

Only barely, you suppressed a sigh. “And they’re playing in groups, right?”

“Of course!”

“Come on, Tobi. You can see it too.”

He could. His following silence said more than enough. Though, you pushed further, leaned forward and lowered your voice so no curious ear could hear. “All the clans mixed together, yes, but the Uchiha. They’re the only ones playing in one group, while all the other clan-children play in well-mixed groups. Why is that?”

“I don’t see—”

“Don’t tell me you’re not seeing a problem there. You’re smarter than that. Don’t tell me you’re not seeing how your teachers avoid the Uchiha group like the plague. Only one, two are actually going near them, not even directing any advice to them. Don’t tell me you’re that blind, Tobi.”

Madara huffed in triumph, but kept silent. Nevertheless, you squeezed his hand again, only to turn again to Tobirama. He was so close to seeing the greater picture, so close to _understand_. “Your teachers might say they’re okay with teaching Uchiha, but words and actions are after all two different things. Look, the children learn how to treat the Uchiha from their teachers. They’re avoiding them already, even though I bet they would like to play with them as well. This is not the way. You need to revise the curriculum. Not necessarily for the students, but for your teachers.”

“Hng.” His grump was more than you already hoped for. Gently, you patted his shoulder before backing away, allowing him to see for himself. In the same motion, you tugged Madara away; away from the training ground and away from the potential fight still looming on the horizon.

“Come. My work is done here.”

“But—” Madara struggled, his hand nearly slipping out of your grip. You gripped tighter, still smiling but digging your fingernails into his skin.

“Never,” you hissed, “never again make me think we’re going on a date when you just want to show Tobi how wrong he is. Never again force me into a situation where you put me on the spot. Never_ ever_ again deceive me like this, Madara. I swear, I will find a way to sneak into your house, seal you to your bed and suffocate you with your own pillow. Got it?”

No answer. Quickly, you looked over your shoulder, right into his eyes. Gods, why did he have such a dumb and starstruck expression on his face?

“Did you listen to _one_ word I just said?” you hissed once more.

Still, no answer; just Madara’s eyes glazing over and him finally nodding like a puppet with its strings cut. Took him long enough.

“Good.” A last time, you squeezed his hand (way gentler than before), loosened your grip and let go of him. The warm after-sensation in your palm still tingled even seconds later, but you didn’t wipe your hand off at your pants and just enjoyed the feeling when you turned to your fiancé, who still looked at you with wide eyes and a slack face. Madara’s expression made you brave; braver than you ever had been. Your mouth opened and your brain sent words you would’ve never said if not for the frustration at the deceit and the burial of your hopes for this day. “Tomorrow, we will meet up for _real_. Training field three, at noon. Bring some food, I’m responsible for the drinks. Don’t be late, or I will make true on that promise of suffocating you.”

You waited for another second for some kind of reaction. His eyes grew as wide as saucers, his mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, and the hand you just released was raised to touch the side of his face. Then, after endless moments of this foolery, Madara nodded again, still speechless, still without his eyes leaving your face, still the hand touching his own cheek.

You resisted the urge to lean in and give him a little peck on his cheekbone. Instead, you tested a theory and winked at him. Madara’s following blush could’ve outdone the sun itself. From the small patch of skin below his neck right up to the tip of his ears, he blushed, the same color as the shade of overripe strawberries.

A truly lovely sight, you had to admit. With a little grin spreading on your face, you swiveled around and walked away, with a little spring in your step which hadn’t been there since you realized what Madara was up to.

Maybe, the day still turned out pretty good, given the fact Madara had started it off with a deceit.

~ X ~

The next morning, after you told Tobirama to truly look at his teachers, most of them were either in a re-education program or released from their duties as teachers. When you took a quick look on your way to training field three, the groups were all evenly mixed and the Uchiha children looked just like the others. There were no more differences and no more exclusion from their peers. They were just learning how to be great shinobi in the future, be among their friends and growing up in peace.

~ X ~

The sun was shining bright when you arrived at training field three. A few clouds drifted over the sky, making the day even more pleasant and a bit more relaxed. A weak breeze was coming and going, ruffling your light clothes that were fit for a relaxed day or an intense training session all the same. The weaponry and seal tags hidden in various places were also no coincidence.

You had a plan and you were determined to go through with it.

The sun didn’t quite reach its apex yet when Madara showed up. He was the epitome of a rushed, worried and flustered man, plus a heavy basket in his hands and a blanket rolled up and tugged under one arm. His clothes followed the same guidelines as yours: light, comfortable to move in, yet complimenting him in all the right ways. Even his wild hair hung freely down his back and secretly, you asked yourself if it would be already appropriate to ask him to allow you to tie it up for him.

Any excuse to touch his hair, really.

“Hello there,” you allowed a single grin to flash over your face, “I see you came prepared.”

“Someone really pushy told me to be.”

“Should I know them?”

“Would be for the better.”

There was a certain tension crackling in the air, you could feel it. You narrowed your eyes at Madara, who showed a just as toothy, teasing, overconfident grin back. Seriously, if you wouldn’t like him that much, you would be so annoyed at him for merely showing that much confidence. Guess what they say about love being blind is true.

“Well,” you raised your own bag with bottles filled to the brim with cold and warm tea, “come on. Or did you bring another political discussion to the table that I’m meant to solve for you?”

“Not today, no.”

“Then, tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, but another, permanent smile made its way onto your face. Gods, you loved to banter with him. _Loved_. It was ridiculous how an exchange of words you would’ve loathed a few months ago now managed to make you smile and swoon. Truly ridiculous and yet so sweet.

For a second, your thoughts drifted to the _other_ way. The other way, the other chance, the other life which may exist in some other twisted fantasy. A world where Madara—out of reasons totally beyond you—didn’t call for the peace treaty. A world where he was resentful, bitter, full of hatred and pain out of reasons you didn’t want to imagine. A world in which Konoha may have existed eventually, through a lot of more complications and reasoning on both sides, but Madara being casted into the darkness.

A cold shudder wandered down your back, so strong you reached up and needed to touch the back of your own neck. Such a reality, you didn’t want to imagine. It seemed too cruel to even think about it, like a mere flimsy thought could bring that grim daymare into existence.

Suddenly, Madara’s hand brushed your upper arm. Too deep in your own head, you hadn’t noticed how he closed the distance between the two of you, halfway over the training field.

“Hey,” his voice was only barely tinged with a hint of concern, “you were gone there for a second.”

“Yeah… Just thinking about weird stuff, I guess.” It was strange to hear him talk so casually. Even weirder to feel another reassuring touch to your shoulder, before he walked ahead into the shade of an old and mighty oak and settled his basked into the lush green grass.

_Enough thinking about past possibilities. This my reality and nothing else._

“What weird stuff?” Madara finally asked. His arms were outstretched, ready to spread the blanket on the ground. His question was casual enough to sound non-suspicious, but you already knew him better than that.

With a sigh, you settled down into the grass. The sun was shining onto your back, warming you, while a soft breeze bristled through your hair. A perfect day. “Aaah, nothing too important. I was thinking about… about what could’ve happened if everything didn’t happen the way it happened. You know? If I didn’t steal Izuna’s soul, if Hashirama didn’t make me go with you, if I didn’t help Izuna… If we never even met the way that we met.”

“And?”

Honestly, you expected Madara to tell you to brush these useless thoughts aside, that there was no use in making up these scenarios as they didn’t happen. Instead, he surprised you once more (he seemed to do so a lot lately). Finally, the blanket was laid out to his satisfaction and he sat down. With his legs set on the ground, his arms hanging over his knees and eyes set on the sky, he started to speak ever so slowly, his voice low and throaty. “I think if nothing of that ever happened… I don’t want to imagine that possibility. The chance of that reality to end up in misery seemed way too high for me. Besides,” his expression softened, “I like this. I like today. And I think I will like tomorrow too.”

This was probably the longest time you went without any kind of banter. Just a normal conversation, merely led in hushed voices. It was strange, yet welcome to be civil for once. Civil and soft, not hard and battle worn, and not always on edge and armed with a sharp tongue, and even sharper words.

_Will we be like this in a month still? In a year? Or will we return to our hatred the first chance we get?_

No. No, there was simply no way you would. You learned too much about each other to go back to the blind hatred of before. And, most importantly, you learned too much about yourself to go back to such thick-headed ignorance.

Such a strange mood you were in today. Full of remembrance and questioning, full of the what-if’s and what-could’ve-been, and full of routes not taken and paths not walked. A strange mood to be in, and apparently, you infected Madara with the same kind of thoughts. He wasn’t even looking at you, merely stared into the distance and didn’t even seem to notice when you also dropped onto the blanket, a few inches away from him and just so close you could feel his body warmth on your skin.

“I like today, too,” you mumbled in the silence.

Madara nodded ever so slowly. “And tomorrow?”

For a moment, you struggled with the thoughts in your head and the actual words wanting to come out, but then you decided to screw it. You joined him in staring at the blue sky, but made sure to accentuate your voice in a way which demanded his entire attention in the same second the words left your mouth. “With the right person by my side, I think I can also like tomorrow.”

The pointed look you gave him, with just enough intensity and cheekiness to make him truly understand at whom you were hinting at, didn’t miss its mark. In the very instance your eyes met his, Madara blushed, only to quickly reach over to his basket and spread its contents over the blanket. You couldn’t help but observe how his fingers trembled, barely enough to be noticed by you and him alike.

When you laid eyes on the different snacks, you instantly knew how much Madara sweated over these, despite him maybe not being the brightest candle in the kitchen. A smaller basket filled to the brim with uneven, unshapely onigiri, the dried plums sometimes sticking out of the rice, the yakitomorokoshi were slightly burned on one side but still smelled heavenly, and when Madara handed you a small plate of skewered dango, obviously prepared with lots of care and attention-to-detail, you were barely able to swallow the tears of thankfulness.

“This looks really good. Thank you.”

You could see Madara’s relief in the way his shoulders sagged down and his head dropped slightly forward. “You’re welcome.”

No admission he was relieved, not that you expected him to do so. Calm confidence laid in his movements as he reached for the grilled sweet corn, considered the light snack for a moment before biting into it. A dribble of soy sauce ran down his chin. Instantly, his eyes fluttered to you, worried you might laugh at him or crack a joke which his fragile ego wouldn’t survive.

Instead of doing that (_seriously, does he know me so little?_), you picked up another cob of corn and bit into it, making sure some soy sauce was smeared across your chin as well.

For a moment, you chewed, let your eyes roam around the field and tried not to think about the reaction your mother would show if she would see how the sauce stained your skin—definitely in horror at the unladylike behavior, that was for sure.

But it helped Madara calm down. After a few more moments of staring blankly, you dared to wipe off the thin sheen of sauce and continued to eat, this time with a little bit more dignity.

No word was exchanged except for a quiet question for a drink and you giving it to him without a fight. The day was too nice, the food was (despite its slightly dented look) tasty, and the company was also acceptable. You both understood without needing a conversation about it to not disturb the silence, the tranquility, the _peace_. Both of you had shared too many battles to not appreciate the serenity of the unusual situation.

A welcomed situation, but nevertheless unusual.

The meal might appear small, but it was indeed filling, to the point it was enough to make you simply fall back onto the blanket—comfortably full and smiling like a cat, relaxing in the sun and stretching your limbs until you could hear and feel the weak cracks in your joints.

“That doesn’t sound too healthy,” Madara glanced at your spread-out body before sipping at some tea, “the cracks, I mean.”

“Aah, it’s nothing. Just didn’t have time to train properly; move my body a bit.”

“I know. Always busy running around. Buried up to the elbows in dirt and paving the roads for the clans and civilians alike. Building bridges between clans.”

“You seem to have watched me a lot lately.”

“Of course. The efforts my betrothed brings to the table need to be seen and appreciated.”

Madara complimented you in such a roundabout way you almost didn’t notice. Alone the fact he _had_ noticed the effort and raw construction work you put into the village was a little surprise to you; that he openly complimented you on the matter was an even bigger one.

You coughed awkwardly into the silence. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Another moment of silence spanned between the two of you. You breathed in, closed your eyes and truly allowed yourself to feel the moment—feel and hear the moment. Listen to the rustling of the trees, the gurgling of the small stream nearby, the weak shuffles of Madara by your side… Everything was so peaceful.

Gods, you had to do something about this. There was something cursing through your system with the force of a whirlwind. Something too powerful to keep you down, something incredibly exciting, bubbling in your chest until you couldn’t lay still anymore.

Your eyes opened with a sudden snap. “Spar with me.”

The answer was as short as it was dismissive. “No.”

You rose from the blanket and dusted yourself off, already frolicking at the thought of fighting Madara again. “I didn’t ask.”

With that out of the way, you walked away. Right into the middle of the wide field and swiveled around, a little spring in your step. In your face laid the challenge for him to stand up—and he noticed.

He squinted, instantly suspicious to the core. “What are you up to, Senju?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you join me and find out?”

Yes, you brimmed with gleeful excitement. Madara had to spar with you now, otherwise you would have no idea how to get that particular energy out of your system.

He took the bait. Like an overly hungry pike, too big and agile for his own good yet overly aware of his own superiority.

“You sure about that?” he asked. The personification of absolute and utter arrogance but today, you didn’t mind today.

His arrogance was justified for once. There was no way you would actually beat him, just a comically small fraction of a possibility Madara might trip over nothing and fall unconscious. No, you merely looked forward to being active in your original field again. To fight and test out things, feel your blood pumping through your veins and your heart beating in your ears, to have a challenge right in front of you and trying to surpass it, no matter what it would take from you.

Besides, this would be the first time you would physically fight with Madara since your first fateful encounter many, many weeks ago. Back then, you hated him with a passion, wanted to kill him, _killed _his comrades before even directly encountering him right under his nose.

Now, you merely wanted to be close in one of the only ways you were secure in. Sparring.

_Another unladylike method._

_And yet, I know it would work on him._

_It will work on me, too._

You watched how Madara stood up. With lazy yet careful motions, he dusted himself off, his eyes never leaving you. The contact was intense, so intense you could feel goose bumps wandering up your arms.

“So, you’re sure.” No more questions, just a raw statement.

Nodding, you grinned in wild excitement. He was accepting the spar. He wanted to spar—_with you_. Maybe, subconsciously, Madara even had dressed himself accordingly, even though he could’ve never predicted where this day would take him.

But maybe, he _did_ know or guessed or hoped for this outcome. With him, who would really know?

You watched him closely as he walked up to you. His posture was—like always—overly confident, cocky even, and the grin on his face just as much. With a lazy shrug of his shoulders, his black strands falling in easy waves downwards, he came to a stop in front of you. Merely a few meters separated you and him for now, a distance easily bridged by the typical speed and strength of a shinobi.

“Ready?” His hands stretched out, joints cracked as his fingers bent.

“Ready if you are.” You instantly gave back, a little grin tugging at your lips.

He didn’t need another invitation. Not waiting for a single second, he jumped towards you, one hand clenched into a fist, the other drawn back and ready for another punch if necessary. You evaded by stepping aside in a turn on your heel and raising your hands in return.

This started the dance of whirling hands and flying kicks, swift evasions and decisive blocks. You barely had the time to think; there was only just pure action. One arm up to defend. One step back to evade his roundhouse kick. A jump forward, readying yourself for the impact which never came. Madara jumped aside, but you had anticipated it. Anticipated and were at ready. Striking with the speed of lightning, your arm snaked around his neck, wrangling him into submission, the other twisting Madara’s arm behind his back—you tried to at least, but he slithered out of your grip like a snake. The next moment, you were the one in a tight chokehold.

“Enjoying yourself?” But his breath was accelerated, brushing in harsh waves over the side of your face as you clawed into his arm. “Was that how you imagined it to go?”

Not at all, but before you would admit that you had imagined this spar evolving into something entirely else (absolutely inappropriate, to be exact), hell in all its seven circles would freeze over. With a low growl, you escaped from his arms, furious at the heat gathering in the pit of your stomach and your own hazy mind.

“Not at all,” you hissed through gritted teeth, “but I still can change that.”

“You do realize you have no chance, right?”

“We will see about that.”

“Indeed.” His dark eyes were crinkled in the silent amusement of your futile struggle. Gods, you hated him for it. Hated yourself for loving it deep down, just the tiniest bit. “But you must surely have noticed I restrained myself? Only using tai-jutsu isn’t really my style.”

Of course, you noticed. You knew how Madara fought. Years of learning how to fight the Uchiha weren’t spent on you for nothing, especially against the strongest Uchiha currently alive. Of course, you knew. And that pissed you off.

“Fine.” Again, you picked up your fighting stance. “Bring it on then, you stupid, arrogant prick.”

Truth to be told, this little brawl had just been the first contact. A little prelude to assess each other, but for you, it also had been the preparation for the main course. It was no coincidence your pockets were missing a few seals already.

You prayed he didn’t notice as you slowly circled him, never leaving his body for one second out of sight. The sun seemed to burn onto your head now. A small drop of sweat rolled down your temple. Another step sideways, before you turned around and booked it. There was a forest nearby, trees to hide in and set up traps if you just had a little bit of distance.

Madara’s laugh haunted you, even when you reached the promising shadow of the trees. One look over your shoulder and you knew why.

One of your first traps went off. Slimy goo splattered all over him, soaking his clothes to the bone. He was still looking faintly amused, throwing glances around and shaking off some residue, but in just a few more seconds he would experience what it truly meant to stand still and marvel at the slime.

Just a few seconds after that impression, after you already turned around again to hide deeper in the shadows, leaves and greenery, you heard a faint curse and the quick yet silent splash of water. Madara apparently discovered the incredibly and quite fascinating attribute of your specifically created slime released by this particular trap: rapid hardening and thus immobilizing the target. Washing it off was a great first instinct, yet you were prepared. The other traps you were spreading all over the greenery would be even more lethal when exposed to water. Yet, nothing you wouldn’t believe would put Madara into real, lethal danger.

Fighting Madara like this, listening to him sputter and spit water, grinning wildly and knowing you could go all out without seriously injuring him, spurred you on even more. You just had to make him crack, bring him down from his high horse and show him you could take him on head on if needed, apart from your word debates and banters. The pure insult of restricting himself only to tai-jutsu… That was the first step you would take in this fight. Bringing Madara to break his word. An exciting little challenge, plus you could finally try out the more dangerous, complicated seals in your arsenal.

Finally, he emerged from the small stream. His clothes were plastered to his skin; a sight which made you wish you weren’t that far away or that he would lose his clothing entirely. A little forbidden wish which made you blush and turn around to avoid the temptation of Madara’s sinful sight.

_Curse him!_

_It could be all mine, if I just asked._

_No. Asking is way too easy. This, all the dancing around each other, the banter and arguments, this entire date, all of this makes it so much better._

_More worthwhile._

With renewed vigor, you finished the last touch on the very last trap. It was only one part of the bigger puzzle you had created here, ready for Madara to pick it apart and ready to blow up in his face if he wasn’t careful enough, something which you counted on. He _wanted _to see what you had in stock and wanted the challenge just as much as you wanted it.

Another thing you had in common with him. Both of you weren’t afraid of a little hurdle in your way.

Silently, you formed theem signs you disliked as well as deemed them necessary. Melting into the underground was a process you hated immensely. Not being able to breathe properly without breathing in the dirt, small roots scrapping over your skin and being subjected to the all-encompassing pressure of the earth around you. However, it was a necessary evil and in this very moment, you were ready to accept it with all its less than pretty repercussions.

Feeling his chakra move above you was as easy as watching a candle float through a dark room. Madara always burned bright and high, especially now. While you were hiding your own chakra signature, you moved right below him through the earth. A snake waiting for its prey.

Short of a few steps right in front of the forest, Madara stopped; right in front of the small circle made out of traps and seals. He was obviously expecting an assault or another trap, but was he really that attentive to his surroundings? Or was it just his battle-instincts at work, screaming at him to not move another inch, otherwise he might just forfeit his life instantly?

“Oh, you clever wench…” His whisper appeared hollow through all the earth pressuring your ears. Suddenly, his voice grew louder. “That slime was certainly a nice challenge. Would’ve nearly captured me there.”

You were too clever to answer, but a slight smile flashed over your face.

“And now this? You couldn’t have done a worse job in hiding these seals. I’m actually impressed at how—!”

Enough weak insults. Still grinning, you formed another quick line of signs. The effect was instant.

The earth around you shook as the cleverly hidden seals right _behind _Madara’s position exploded. A huge detonation, shaking you to the very core, but you followed his chakra signature with hawk eyes.

In the second the explosions went off, Madara had no other choice but to fling himself towards the very obvious trap. As soon as he breached the invisible line, all of them went off as one—with him as the target. Shuriken and kunai flew at him, together with more explosive seals and some poison-paralyzing seals, specifically made by an expert to your specifications. Quickly, you made an escape, blindly digging towards the north without any remorse. After all, you could still feel his chakra signature. Madara was fine, but the very bright flickering of his chakra told you more than enough.

You found yourself right outside of the small forest, gasping for air and eyes fixated on the grey tower rising above the green crowns. Even from here, you could still faintly smell the stench of the poison, even some of the non-threatening smoke lingered in the air. Grunting and cursing, you dug yourself out of the ground. So much dirt inside your clothes, even in crevices you didn’t even know which existed. With a sigh, you reached up and started to comb your hair. Several small animals like worms and insects had made their way in, plus some roots were knotted into your strands. All the while, you continued to stare at the smoke and simply… waited.

You reached the very tips of your hair when Madara emerged from the forest. Positively furious, still smoking and dirt smeared into his face, his clothes still wet and face pulled into a tense grimace. His glare darkened even further when he spotted you, with your legs innocently crossed, also dirt smeared all over your features and stuck right beneath your fingernails, and smiling at him like you couldn’t harm a single fly.

“Hello there,” you smiled up at him when he approached, “good to see you. Had some trouble there?”

His eyes flickered red for just a split second, but that made your smile even bigger. “Oh, just the tiniest bit. Nothing I couldn’t manage.”

“Only with tai-jutsu?”

Madara growled, but didn’t answer otherwise. Now, he was positively pissed. “You little—!”

“Wench? Sorceress? Hag? Please, be a little bit more creative, won’t you?”

“You absolutely ridiculous, mad _woman_!”

“Oh yes, that teaches me a lesson. Damn, that one stung. Ouch.” One of your hands flew up to touch your forehead, dramatically swooning and acting like you had been terribly wounded. “I will never recover from this insult to my honor, now that the mighty Madara has granted me with the privilege to insult me with the dirtiest word of them all.”

“You planned this!”

“Of course, I did! Since I had to rework my fighting style, I haven’t thought about anything else! God, you should see yourself. All wet and furious and dirty…”

“And you?” His glare could level entire mountains, but there was something glinting in his eyes which made your smile lessen and hold your breath. Another step closer, right into your space. Subconsciously, you scooted backwards, but then he was already way too close. One of his hands closed around your wrist, warm and hard and secure, despite his harshness. His features were still set in stone when he tenderly guided you to stand up, his other hand reaching out to touch your waist.

Just the tips of his fingers, nothing more, and yet, you would swear he used a jutsu to keep you rooted in your spot.

“And you?” he repeated, weaker this time. His lips moved right in your vision, so it wasn’t a surprise to you that you couldn’t help but to stare at them as they moved further. “Little witch, that’s what you are. Trying to kill me.”

“Oh, I know you would survive that. Just not in the perimeters of your own rules.”

“Senju, I swear to all gods…”

His grip on your wrist eased, just enough to soften his fingers. Another breath ghosted over your mouth as he licked his lips, before his expression fell. Fell and changed; changed into something entirely different and unusual you nearly recoiled. Just _nearly_, because in the moment your mouth wanted to form the next-best non-threatening insult, Madara leaned in.

His lips slanted against yours in his usual brutish manner. Nothing soft and tender about the kiss; nothing but fiery intensity and eager need. You wanted this, exactly _this_. Madara in his very essence, all clash and teeth and straightforwardness you missed in every other aspect of his behavior. With a low moan vibrating in your throat, you arched into him. Your own fingers clawed into his singed clothes, tugged at them to bring you two closer. Closer and yet not close enough. Thankfully, Madara reacted to your answer, like you had thrown oil into a wildfire. Another deep groan, another tug at your clothing to fit him against you like a second skin. His moves grew urgent, needy, desperate in a way which made your own lust kindle and brighten, until his hands glided dangerously close to your waistline.

Instantly, you backed away, even though you missed his warmth in the blink of an eye. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Madara was clearly stupefied. A curtain seemed to dim his eyes, but he blinked a few times, shook his head, and tried to clear his mind. “…Wha…?”

“I’m asking once again, what do you think you’re doing here?”

“I’m—”

“What are your intentions?”

“My… intentions…?”

“Yeah!” You threw your hands into the air, even though you wanted nothing more than a repetition of earlier. “Your intentions! What do you want to do, with kissing me and inviting me on dates and getting my hopes up by… by _kissing me_, oh gods!”

“I thought you liked it.” Was his only answer, together with more confused, hazy blinking.

His answer was laughable, but apparently the only he had at the moment with his restricted brain activity (and not going to lie here, you were partly at fault for that one). “Yes, I did! But that’s not the point!”

“That _is_ exactly the point here,” he said, “and nothing else, because of your feelings for me.”

“And what about your feelings?”

“Huh?”

Wildly, you gestured to yourself. “_Your _feelings for _me_! What about them, huh? You clearly know what I feel for you, but what do you feel for me? Thanks to my meddling mother, I already revealed everything and you got to say your cryptid words, but what about me?”

All the weeks of uncertainty, questioning yourself and the heavy self-doubts had piled up, only to be released in this very moment. In wild movements, you gestured several times to yourself, to him, and into the air. It felt good to finally let go of everything and throw it right into his face, where your words clearly belonged. If he didn’t hear them loud and clear, what else would become of them?

You breathed in for a small moment. “The entire time, I’m questioning myself. What if he feels the same thing for me? Does he even feel the same things as I do? What if he doesn’t? Is he playing with me? All these things are constantly running through my head, and then you come around and throw more shit at me. Do you realize I spent the night awake the day before yesterday, thinking this would be a great first date for the both of us? But no! You’re dragging me along to an inner-political discussion of the village, to fulfill and push your own agenda, no matter how needed the change to the school system was!”

“(Y/N)…”

“And then,” you sucked a harsh breath in, “then you’re all charming and suave in the clumsiest way one could possibly imagine. And we have a great first conversation without insulting us which makes me think if more days could be like this, you know? You’re just so damn confusing that I don’t know if it’s even worth cladding my feelings into actual words!”

“And what are your feelings?”

You blinked. Once, twice. Did he just…? No, he wasn’t that slow. “I made them pretty clear when I spouted them in your face.”

Apparently, not enough for Madara. One step into your direction, bridging the distance between the two of you. Only now, you became aware that you were both still dirty. Gods, some of the brown stains of dirt were now on his shirt, while yours smelled now faintly of smoke and metal.

Again, one of his hands reached out. With bated breaths, you waited, anticipated the moment of his touch with butterflies fluttering inside your belly, and when Madara touched you, oh heavens. Heavens and all gods in between. The touch was the very definition of soft, in total difference to his usual brashness. Simple, content warmth ran through your veins as you leaned into the touch. There was a meaning behind this. Something deeper, but it wasn’t clear yet. No, Madara had to be clear from now on, use his words and not his strangely obtuse actions which were just as confusing as they were endearing.

His hand on your face was a first step. “What do you want me to say that I haven’t already blurted out?” you mumbled. Nevertheless, you waited and waited, your heart beating in your ears like goddamn thunder rolling around on the distant horizon.

Madara’s features were unreadable as he looked into your eyes. “Everything, but not with the words you want me to say.”

Despite _everything_ going on, you raised your chin ever so slightly. “I’ve got nothing left to prove to you. It’s your turn now, Uchiha.”

And it was true, he had to see that. He knew about your feelings, even if you didn’t articulate them clearly. You admitted to them in a roundabout way, yet his were completely shrouded into darkness. It was about time he confessed, and quickly on top of that.

“I…” he licked his lips, cocked his head to the side. “I like… _love_ you. I love you. Have been so for a few months. At the start, it was definitely different, but then I watched you more and more… How you treated the children in our clan, how dedicated you were despite doing this task not out of your free will, how you could stand your ground against me and the clan elders… Only a few would’ve done so and even fewer would dare to argue against me in my worst moments. But you…”

The following silence was heavy with all the implications Madara didn’t name. His thumb was warm and strong as he started to slowly move over your cheekbone. Back and forth, back and forth. A mere sweet touch, nothing else. Yet it meant so much to you, making you smile even when you wanted nothing more than to bark and growl at him.

Only Madara was able to make you feel all these confusing, irritating emotions at once.

“You’re the most irritating, infuriating, stubborn woman I’ve met,” his voice was hoarse when he spoke, “and the way you threaten me with violence stops my heart every time. Nothing but a strong will could ever enflame my heart, and yours is the strongest I’ve seen so far.”

Just when you thought he would kiss you again, Madara merely leaned in. His forehead touched yours, the tip of his nose pressing against your nose in the most intimate way you could’ve ever imagined. That such a simple touch, not even a kiss, would make your head spin and reel like this… there were still small miracles in this world and the fact you were alive to even witness this one was a small miracle of its own.

You closed your eyes, sighing as you did so. Sheer bliss coursed through your body and your mouth opened out of its own will, spilling out the not-so-secret secret you harbored for so long.

“I love you, too,” you said, laughing and with tears burning in the corners of your eyes. “You’re the most stubborn, straightforward, infuriating idiot I know. You’re the strongest shinobi and man known to mankind, but only a few will ever see the softness you hide inside your heart. Don’t even try to deny it, I know you’re such a big softie for the children and your brother. And standing up together with you against the clan elders was probably my favorite part of the entire… stay.”

Finally. Nothing left unsaid, nothing left up for interpretation and misunderstanding. Just simple, clear words. And thank the gods for that clarity. It was way better to enjoy Madara’s embrace without all the doubts and worries in the back of your mind.

“So…” the sudden worry in his voice made you crack an eye open. “what are we going to do from now on?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“We’re _promised_ to each other, Madara. If anything, you will make me yours in name and blood the moment you marry me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“And…” you were so close to rolling your eyes, but he was merely _worrying_ and meaning well, even though the missing blood in his brain seemed to make Madara especially slow today. “What about your family? Will your mother…?”

“We will live in the same village, you blind fool. Peace is lying ahead of us; a long age of peace and tranquility. I will still see them, be able to talk to them, especially Hashirama and Tobirama. You will probably need to forbid my mother from coming over at some point. And let’s be honest here, Tobi needs someone from the Uchiha Clan he doesn’t dislike with a passion to make negotiations with.”

“You don’t need to say it like that, you know?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re insinuating I’m stupid.”

“Well, you are sometimes.”

“That’s not true!”

“What about just now? Literally, what about just ten seconds ago?”

“I just told you my true feelings and you’re making fun of me!”

“I’m definitely not making fun of you!”

“You’re grinning! Right there, you’re grinning!”

“Sure, tell yourself that.”

It was easier to argue with each other than to break into more sweet nothings, especially considering you were still standing nose to nose, so close that it was impossible to not breathe in the very essence of the other while holding hands, with the sappiest smiles you could ever imagine on your faces.

Besides, you two knew what your argument truly meant. It was a language only you two could speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail to the awesome, almighty Chisie! Thank you so much!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> All the kudos to my wonderful friend Chisie, who takes it upon herself to correct my poor grammar T^T9


End file.
